Imatges de pÓgina

And waits my flesh for thy command,
To drop into the dust.

C. M. Grafton. Cheltenban. 605

Death and Judgment appointed to all.
HEAVEN has confirmed the dread decree,

That Adam's race must die:
One general ruin sweeps them down,

And low in dust they lie.
2 Ye living men, the tomb survey,

Where you must shortly dwell;
Hark! how the awful summons sounds,

In every funeral knell !
3 Once you must die—and once for all-

The solemn purport weigh:
For know, that heaven or hell is hung

On that important day!
4 Those eyes, so long in darkness valled,

Must wake, the Judge to see;
And every word-and every thought

Must pass his scrutiny.
5 Oh may I in the Judge behold

My Saviour and my Friend
And, far beyond the reach of death,

With all his saints ascend.

C. H.

Barby, Eastporte 606

Admonition to prepare for Death.
LIFE is a span—a fleeting hour

How soon the vapor flies !
Man is a tender, transient flower,

That ev’n in blooming-dies.
2 The once loved form, now cold and dead,

Each mournful thought employs ;
And nature weeps her comforts fled,

And withered all her joys.
3 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,

When what we now deplore mf Shall rise in full, immortal prime,

And bloom to fade no more.
4 Cease then, fond nature, cease thy tear

Thy Saviouir dwells on high ;
There everlasting spring appears
There joys shall never die.


C. M. Grafton. St. Austin'.
WHEN youth and age are snatched away

By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,

And bow at God's command.
2 While love still prompts the rising sigh,

With awful power impressed,
Let this dread truth, “ I too must die !”

Sink deep in every breast !
3 May this vain world o'ercome no more!

Behold the opening tomb !
It bids us use the present nour;

To-inorrow death may come.
4 The voice of this instructive scene

Let every heart obey !
Nor be the faithful warning vain

Which calls to watch and pray.
5 Lord ! let us to our refuge fly!

Thine arm alone can save:

Give us, through Christ, the victory, mf To triumph o'er the grave!

C. M.

Grafton. Eastporto 608

Prayer for Support in Death.
WHEN, bending o’er the brink of life,

My trembling soul shall stand,
And wait to pass death's awful flood,

Great God, at thy cominand ;-
2 Thou Source of life and joy supreme,

Whose arm alone can save,
Dispel the darkness that surrounds

T'he entrance to the grave!
3 Lay thy supporting, gentle hand

Beneath my sinking head,
And let a beam of life divine
Illume my dying bed.
C. M.

Grafton. Ely, 609

Preparation for Death.
IF I must die, oh! let me die

With hope in Jesus' blood-
The blood that saves from sin and guilt,

And reconciles to God.

2 If I must die, oh! let me die

In peace with all mankind,
And change these feeling joys below

For pleasures more refined.
3 If I must die-and die I must-

Let some kind seraph come,
And bear me on his friendly wing

To my celestial home.
4 Or Canaan's land, from Pisgah's top,

May I bül have a view;
Though Jordan should o'erflow its banks,
l'il boldly venture through.

C. M. Bether. St. Austin's, 610

Hope in Christ a Support in Death.
WHEN Death appears before my sight

In all his dire array,
Unequal to the dreadful fight,

My courage faints away.
2 How shall I meet this potent foe,

Whose frown my soul alarms?
Dark horror sits upon his brow,

And victory waits his arms.
3 Oh, for the eye of faith divine,

To pierce beyond the grave!
To see that friend, and call him mine,

Whose arm alone can save. 611

L. M.

Hingham, Shool WHY should we start, and fear to die?

What timorous worms we mortals are !
Death is the gate of endless joy,

And yet we dread to enter there.
2 The pains, the groans, and dying strife,

Fright our approaching souls away;
Still shrink we back again to life,

Fond of our prison, and our clay.
3 Oh! if my Lord would come and meet,

My soul should stretch her wings in haste, mf Fly fearless through death's iron gate,

Nor feel the terrors as slie passed.
4 Jesus can make a dying hed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean mny bead,

And breathe my life out sweetly there,

C. M. Marlow. Medford. 612

Faith giving Victory over Death.
OH for an overcoming faith

To cheer my dying hours !
To trivinph o'er the monster, Death,

And all his frightful powers !
2 Joyful, with all the strength I have,

My quivering lips should sing,
"Where is thy boasted victory, grave!

And where the monster's sting?' f 3 Now to the God of victory

Immortal thanks be paid,
Who makes us conquerors while we die,

Through Christ, our living Head. 613

C. M.

Mear. Colchester,
HOW glorious is the gift of faith,

That cheers the darksome tomb,
And through the damp and gloomy grave

Can shed a rich perfume !
2 Triumphant faith !-it lifts the soul

Above desponding fear;
Exults in hope of heaven, her home,
And longs to enter there!
C. M.

Barby. York 614 Triumph over Death in Hope of the Resurrection mp GREAT God, I own thy sentence just,

And nature must decay;
I yield my body to the dust,

To dwell with fellow clay.
f 2 Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,

And trample on the tombs ;
My great Redeemer ever lives,

My God, my Saviour, comes.
3 The mighty Conqueror shall appear,

High on a royal seat;
And death, the last of all his foes,

Lie vanquished at his feet.
4 Then shall I see thy lovely face

With strong, immortal eyes,
And feast upon thine unknown grace,

With pleasure and surprise.

L. M.

Hebron. Ward 615

The peaceful Death of the Righteous.
SWEET is the scene when Christians die,

When holy souls retire to rest :
How mildly beams the closing eye!

How gently heaves th' expiring breast !
2 So fades a summer cloud away ;

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day;

So dies a wave along the shore.
mf 3 Triumphant smiles the victor's brow,

Fanned by some guardian angel's wing: mi O grave! where is thy victory now,

And where, 0 Death, where is thy sting! 616

S. M. Mornington. Bethany.
OH for the death of those

Who slumber in the Lord !
Oh be like theirs my last repose,

Like theirs my last reward.
2 Their bodies, in the ground,

In silent hope may lie,
Till the last trumpet's joyful sound

Shall call them to the sky.
3 Their ransomed spirits soar,

On wings of faith and love,
To meet the Saviour they adore,

And reign with him above.
4 With us their names shall live

Through long succeeding years,
mp Embalmed with all our hearts can give,

Our praises and our tears.
Aff 5 Oh for the death of those

Who slumber in the Lord !
Oh be like theirs my last repose,

Like theirs my last reward. 6197

The dying Christian to his Soul.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, tying-
Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature-cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!

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