Imatges de pÓgina
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3 Here may our unborn sons

And daughters sound thy praise,
And shine like polished stones,

Through long succeeding days:
Here, Lord, display thy saving power,
While temples stand, and men adore.
4 Here may the listening throng

Imbibe thy truth and love ;
Here Christians join the song

Of seraphim above:
Till all who humbly seek thy face,

Rejoice in thy abounding grace. 671

H. M. Bethesda. St. Philip's.
GREAT Father of mankind,

We bless that wondrous grace,
Which could for gentiles find

Within thy courts a place.
How kind the care For us to raise
Our God displays, A house of prayer!

2 Though once estranged afar,

We now approach the throne ;
For Jesus brings us near,

And makes our cause his own:
Strangers no more,

And find our home,
To thee we come,

And rest secure.
3 May all the nations throng

To worship in thy house ;
And thou attend their song,

And smile upon their vows;
Indulgent still, To join the choir

Till earth conspire On Zion's hill, 672

C. M. Stamford. St. Martin'
GREAT Sovereign of the earth and sky,

And Lord of all below;
Before thy glorious Majesty,

Ten thousand seraphs bow.
2 Yet thou art not confined above;

Thy presence knows no bound;
Where'er thy praying people meet,

There thou art always found.
3 Behold, a temple raised for thee;

Oh meet thy people here;
Here, O thou King of saints, reside,

And in thy church appear.

4 Within these walls, let holy peace,

And love and concord dwell;
Here give the troubled conscience ease,

The wounded spirit heal.
5 Here may salvation be proclaimed,

By thy most precious blood;
Let sinners know the joyful sound,

And own their Saviour, God.
6 Here may a numerous crowd arise,

To bow before thy throne;
Here may their songs salute the skies,
To ages yet unborn.

C. M. Eastport. Spencer. 673

Those blessed who die in the Lord.
HEAR what the voice from heaven proclaims

For all the pious dead !

Sweet is the savor of their names, P And soft their sleeping bed.

2 They die in Jesus, and are blest;

How kind their slumbers are !

From suffering and from sin released, mf They're freed from every snare.

3 Far from this world of toil and strife,

They're present with the Lord;

The labors of their mortal life mf End in a large reward.

C. M. Eastport. Spencer. 674

Death and Burial of Christians.
WHY do we mourn departing friends,

Or shake at death's alarms?
"Tis but the voice that Jesus sends

To call them to his arms.
2 Are we not tending upward too,

To heaven's desired abode?
Why should we wish the hours more slow,

Which keep us from our God ?
3 Why should we tremble to convey

Their bodies to the tomb?
'Twas there the Saviour's body lay,

And left a long perfume.
4 The graves of all his saints he blest,

And softened every bed :

Where should the dying membors rest,

But with their dying Head?
5 Thence he arose ascending high,

And showed our feet the way:
Up to the Lord his saints shall fly

At the great rising day.
mri 6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,

And bid our kindred rise ;
Awake, ye nations under ground !

Ye saints! ascend the skies. 675

L. M.

Medway. Munich
UNVAIL thy bosom, faithful tomb;

Take this new treasure to thy trust,
And give these sacred relics room,

To slumber in the silent dust.
2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear

Invade thy bounds-no mortal woes
Can reach the peaceful sleeper here,

While angels watch the soft repose.
3 So Jesus slept--God's dying Son

Passed through the grave, and blest the bed. Rest here, blest saint, till from his throne

The morning break, and pierce the shade. 4 Break from his throne, illustrious morn!

Attend, 0 earth! his sovereign word;
Restore thy trust-a glorious form

Shall then arise to meet the Lord. 676

8 & 7o.

Sicilian Aymas
CEASE, ye mourners, cease to languish

O'er the grave of those you love;
Pain, and death, and night, and anguish,

Enter not the world above.
2 While our silent steps are straying,

Lonely, through night's deepening shado,
Glory's brightest beams are playing

Round th' immortal spirit's head.
3 Light and peace at once deriving

From the hand of God most high,
In his glorious présence living,

They shall never-never die !
4 Endless pleasure, pain excluding,
Sickness there no more can come;

There, no fear of wo intruding,

Sheds o'er heaven a moment's gloom.
5 Now, ye mourners, cease to languish

O'er the graves of those ye love;
Far removed from pain and anguish,
They are chanting hymns above.

C. M. Dundee. Collingbar. 677

Death of a Minister.
NOW let our mourning hearts revive,

And all our tears be dry ;.
Why should those eyes be drowned in grief,

That view a Saviour nigh?
2 What though the arm of conquering death

Does God's own house invade ?
What though the prophet and the priest

Are numbered with the dead?
3 Though earthly shepherds dwell in dust

The aged and the young-
The watchful eye in darkness closed,

And mute th' instructive tongue;
4 Th' eternal Shepherd still survives,

New comfort to impart;
His eye still guides us—and his voice

Still animates our heart.
5 "Lo! I am with you,” saith the Lord,

“ Your safeguard, and your guide ;
Your Saviour still-and happy they

Who in my love confide!”
6 Through every scene of life and death,

This promise is our trust ;

And this shall be our children's song, Len When we are cold in dust.

C. M. Eastport. Burforde 678

Meditation on the Tomb.
HARK! from the tombs a doleful sound;

My ears, attend the cry-
“Ye living men, come view the ground

Where you must shortly lie.
2 Princes, this clay must be your bed,

In spite of all your towers ;
The tall, the wise, the reverend head,

Must lie as low as ours!”

3 Great God! is this our certain doom?

And are we still secure ?
Still walking downwards to the tomb,

And yet prepare no more !
4 Grant us the power of quickening grace,

To fit our souls to fly;
Then, when we drop this dying flesh,
We'll rise above the sky.

C. M. St. Austin's. Bangor 679

A Warning from the Grave.
BENEATH our feet and o'er our head

Is equaj warning given :
Beneath us lie the countless dead,

Above us is the heaven!
2 Death rides on every passing breeze,

And lurks in every flower ;
Each season has its own disease,

Its peril every hour.
3 Turn, mortal, turn !--thy danger know:

Where'er thy foot can tread
The earth rings hollow from below,

And warns thee of her dead!
4 Turn, Christian, turn !-thy soul apply

To truths which hourly tell,
That they who underneath thee lie
Shall live for heaven-or hell!

C. M. Spencer. St. Austin'.. 680

The House appointed for all Living. P

HOW still and peaceful is the grave,

Where, life's vain tumults past,
Th’ appointed house, by heaven's decree,

Receives us all at last !
2 The wicked there from troubling cease

Their passions rage no more;
And there the weary pilgriin rests

From all the toils he bore.
3 All, levelled by the hand of death,

Lie sleeping in the tomb,
Til God in judgment call them forth,

To meet their final doom.

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