607

mf

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 hour;
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,
To triumph o'er the grave!

608

C. M.

Grafton. Eastport.

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 command ;-

2 Thou Source of life and joy supreme,
Whose arm alone can save,
Dispel the darkness that surrounds
The 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.

Preparation for Death.

IF I must die, oh! let me die

With hope in Jesus' blood-

Grafton. Ey.

The blood that saves from sin and guilt, '
And reconciles to God.

mf

2 If I must die, oh! let me die
In peace with all mankind,
And change these fleeting joys below
For pleasures more refined.

3 If must die-and die I must-
Let some kind seraph come,
And bear me on his friendly wing
To my celestial home.

4 Of Canaan's land, from Pisgah's top,
May I but have a view;

Though Jordan should o'erflow its banks,
I'll 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, Shoel.

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 she passed.

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4 Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,

And breathe my life out sweetly there.

612

Faith giving Victory over Death.

OH for an overcoming faith
To cheer my dying hours!

To triumph 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?"

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,

f

And nature must decay;

I yield my body to the dust,

To dwell with fellow clay.

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.

615

L. M.

Hebron. Ward.

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: O grave! where is thy victory now,

616

And where, O Death, where is thy sting!

S. M.

OH for the death of those

Mornington. Bethany.

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.

mf

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.

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

2 Hark! they whisper-angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away:"
What is this absorbs me quite?-
Steals my senses--shuts my sight-
Drowns my spirits-draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul-can this be death?
3 The world recedes-it disappears—
Heaven opens on my eyes!-my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!-

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
"O grave! where is thy victory!

O Death! where is thy sting!"

C. M.

York. Medfield.

618 Submission under the Loss of Friends.

PEACE! 'tis the Lord Jehovah's hand
That blasts our joys in death;
That mars that form to us so dear,
And gathers back the breath.

2 "Tis he-the King and Lord supreme
Of all the worlds above,
Whose steady counsels wisely rule,
Nor from their purpose move.

3 'Tis he, whose justice might demand
Our souls a sacrifice;

Yet scatters, with unwearied hand,
A thousand rich supplies.

4 Silent we own Jehovah's name;
We kiss the scourging hand;

And yield our comforts, and our life,
To his supreme command.

Bethany. St. Thomas.

Hope of the Resurrection.

S. M.

619

AND must this body die?

This mortal frame decay?

And must these active limbs of mine
Lie mouldering in the clay!

mf 2 God, my Redeemer, lives,

And frequent from the skies,

Looks down and watches all my dust,
Till he shall bid it rise.

3 Arrayed in glorious grace

Shall these vile bodies shine,