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622

HYMN 622, C. M.

Prayer in View of Death.

af 1 WHEN, bending o'er the brink of life,
My trembling soul shall stand,
Waiting to pass death's awful flood,
Great God! at thy command ;-

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2 When every long-loved scene of life
Stands ready to depart;

When the last sigh, that shakes the frame,
Shall rend this bursting heart;—

3 0 thou great Source of joy supreme!
Whose arm alone can save,-

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Dispel the darkness, that surrounds
The entrance to the grave.

4 Lay thy supporting, gentle hand
Beneath my sinking head;
And, with a ray of love divine,
Illume my dying bed.

5 Leaning on thy dear faithful breast,
May I resign my breath,

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And, in thy fond embraces, lose
"The bitterness of death."

HYMN 623, S. M.

·Reflections on past Generations.

HOW swift the torrent rolls,

That bears us to the sea!

The tide which hurries thoughtless souls
To vast eternity!

2 Our fathers!-where are they,

With all they called their own?

Their joys and griefs--and hopes and cares,
And wealth and honor-gone!

3 But joy or grief succeeds

Beyond our mortal thought,

While still the remnant of their dust

Lies in the grave forgot.

4 There, where the fathers lie,

Must all the children dwell;

Nor other heritage possess,
But such a gloomy cell.

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5 God of our fathers! hear,—
Thou everlasting Friend!-

While we, as on life's utmost verge,
Our souls to thee commend.

6 Of all the pious dead

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May we the footsteps trace,
Till with them, in the land of light,
We dwell before thy face.

HYMN 624, L. M.

Death of the Righteous.

HOW blest the righteous when he dies,—
When sinks a weary soul to rest!
How mildly beam the closing eyes!

How gently heaves th' expiring breast!

2 So fades a summer cloud away;

So sinks a gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day;
So dies a wave along the shore.

3 A holy quiet reigns around,

A calm which life nor death destroys;
Nothing disturbs that peace profound,
Which his unfettered soul enjoys.

4 Farewell, conflicting hopes and fears!
Where lights and shades alternate dwell:
How bright th' unchanging morn appears!
Farewell, inconstant world! farewell!

5 Life's duty done, as sinks the clay,
Light from its load the spirit flies;
While heaven and earth combine to say,→→
"How blest the righteous when he dies!"

625

HYMN 625, 88 and 7s.

The dying Saint comforted.

mf 1 HAPPY soul! thy days are ending,-
All thy mourning days below:
Go, the angel guards attending—
To the sight of Jesus go!
Waiting to receive thy spirit,

Lo! the Saviour stands above;
Shows the fullness of his merit-
Reaches out the crown of love.

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2 For the joy he sets before thee,
Bear a momentary pain;
Die to live a life of glory;
Suffer-with thy Lord to reign:
Struggle, through thy latest passion,
To thy dear Redeemer's breast,-
To his uttermost salvation,-
To his everlasting rest.

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HYMN 626, 7s and 4.

Support in Death.

HEN the vale of death appears,-
Faint and cold this mortal clay,-
Kind Forerunner! soothe my fears,
Light me through the darksome way;
Break the shadows,-

Usher in eternal day.

2 Upward from this dying state,
Bid my waiting soul aspire;
Open thou the crystal gate;
To thy praise attune my lyre:
Then, triumphant,-

I will join th' immortal choir.

3 When the mighty trumpet, blown,
Shall the judgment dawn proclaim,
From the central, burning throne,
Mid creation's final flame,

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With the ransomed,—

Thou wilt own my worthless name.

THAT

HYMN 627, C. M.

Mourning with Hope.

IAT once-loved form, now cold and dead,
Each mournful thought employs;

And nature weeps, her comforts fled,
And withered all her joys.

2 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,-
When what we now deplore

Shall rise, in full immortal prime,

And bloom to fade no more.

3 Then cease, fond nature! cease thy tears,
Religion points on high;

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There everlasting spring appears,
And joys that cannot die.

HYMN 628, L. M.

Death of an Infant.

1 CO fades the lovely, blooming flower,-
Frail smiling solace of an hour!
So soon our transient comforts fly,..
And pleasure only blooms to die.

aff 2 Is there no kind,-no lenient art,
To heal the anguish of the heart?
Spirit of grace! be ever nigh,
Thy comforts are not made to die.
3 Bid gentle patience smile on pain,
Till dying hope shall live again;

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Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye, mf And faith points upward to the sky.

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HOW

HYMN 629, C. M.

The Grave peaceful.

[OW 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 pilgrim rests
From all the toils he bore.

3 All, leveled by the hand of death,
Lie sleeping in the tomb,

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Till God, in judgment, call them forth,
To meet their final doom.

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HYMN 630, C. M.

Prospect of Death.

Y soul! come, meditate the day,
And think, how near it stands,
When thou must quit this house of clay,
And fly to unknown lands.

2 And you, my eyes! look down and view
The hollow gaping tomb;

This gloomy prison waits for you,
Whene'er the summons come.

aff 3 Oh! could we die with those that die, .
And place us in their stead;
Then would our spirits learn to fly,
And converse with the dead.

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4 Then should we see the saints above,
In their own glorious forms,

And wonder, why our souls should love
To dwell with mortal worms.

5 We should almost forsake our clay,
Before the summons come,

And pray, and wish our souls away,
To their eternal home.

HYMN 631, 8s and 7s.

The Spirit of a dying Christian.

PARTING soul! the flood awaits thee,

the billows round thee roar;'

Yet rejoice, the holy city

Stands on yon celestial shore.

2 There, are crowns and thrones of glory,
There, the living waters glide;
There, the just in shining raiment,
Standing by Immanuel's side.

my 3 Linger not, the stream is narrow,
Though its cold dark waters rise;
He, who passed the flood before thee,
Guides thy path to yonder skies.

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WHY

HYMN 632, L. M.

Death disarmed.

HY should we start, and fear to die?
What tim'rous worms we mortals are!

Death is the gate of endless joy,

And yet we dread to enter there.

2 The pains, the groans, the dying strife,
Fright our approaching souls away;
Still we shrink back again to life,
Fond of our prison and our clay.

3 Oh! if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul would stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

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