Waken, O Lord! our drowsy sense,
To walk this dangerous road;
And if our souls are hurried hence,
May they be found with God.

618.

DEATH.

L. M.

Death and Burial of Saints.

1 UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb!
Take this new treasure to thy trust,
And give these sacred relics room
To seek a slumber in the 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 blessed 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, O earth! his sovereign word; Restore thy trust;-a glorious form Shall then arise to meet the Lord.

Mourners Comforted.

1 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 shade,
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 presence 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 languisa,
O'er the grave of those you love;
Far removed from pain and anguish,
They are chanting hymns above.

620.

C. M.

Dying in the Lord.

1 HEAR what the voice from heaven proclaims For all the pious dead ;

"Sweet is the savor of their names,

And soft their sleeping-bed.

2 They die in Jesus, and are blessed,-
How kind their slumbers are '

From sufferings and from sins, released,
And 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
End in large reward."

621.

C. M.

Mourning with Hope.

1 WHY should our tears in sorrow flow
When God recalls his own;
And bids them leave a world of we,
For an immortal crown?

Is not e'en death a gain to those
Whose life to God was given?
Gladly to earth their eyes they close
To open them in heaven.

3 Their toils are past--their work is done
And they are fully blest;

They fought the fight, the vict'ry won,
And entered into rest.

Then let our sorrows cease to flow,

God has recalled his own;

But let our hearts, in every woe,
Still say," Thy will be done!"

622.

C. M.

Prayer in view of Death.

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;-

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,-
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,

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

623.

S. M.

Reflections on past Generations.

1 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.

1 There, where the fathers lie,

Must all the children dwell;
Nor other heritage possess,
But such a gloomy cell.

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

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

624.

L. M.

Death of the Righteous.

1 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 the 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.

8s and 7s.

The dying Saint comforted.

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 fulness of his merit--

Reaches out the crown of love.

2 For the joy he se:s 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,-

626.

To his everlasting rest.

7s and 4.

Support in Death.

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

Usher in eternal day.

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

I will join th' imortal choir.

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

With the ransomed,—

327.

Thou wilt own my worthless name.

C. M.

Mourning with Hope.

1 THAT once-loved form, now coid and dead,
Each mournful thought employs;
And nture 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;