1 A FEW more years shall roll,

A few more seasons come;

And we shall be with those that rest, Asleep within the tomb.

2 A few more storms shall beat On this wild rocky shore;

And we shall be where tempests cease, And surges swell no more.

3 A few more struggles here,
A few more partings o'er,

A few more toils, a few more tears,
And we shall weep no more.

4 Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that blest day;
O wash me in thy precious blood,
And take my sins away!

HORATIUS BONAR.

958 Our fathers; where are they?

1 How swift the torrent rolls

That bears us to the sea,

The tide that 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.

8 God of our fathers, hear,

Thou everlasting Friend!

While we, as on life's utmost verge,

Our souls to thee commend.

4 Of all the pious dead

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

PHILIP DODDRINGE.

959 Plea for sparing mercy.

1 LORD, let me know mine end,
My days, how brief their date;
That I may timely comprehend
How frail my best estate.

2 My life is but a span;

Mine age is naught with thee; And, in his highest honor, man Is dust and vanity.

3 At thy rebuke the bloom

Of earthly beauty flies;

And grief shall like a moth consume All that delights our eyes.

4 Have pity on my fears; Hearken to my request;

Turn not in silence from my tears, But give the mourner rest.

5 O spare me yet, I pray;

Awhile my strength restore, Ere I am summoned hence away, And seen on earth no more.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

L. M.

IGNACE PLEYEL.

960 Earthly things vain and transitory. 1 How vain is all beneath the skies! How transient every earthly bliss! How slender all the fondest ties

That bind us to a world like this!

2 The evening cloud, the morning dew,
The withering grass, the fading flower,
Of earthly hopes are emblems true,
The glory of a passing hour.

3 But though earth's fairest blossoms die,
And all beneath the skies is vain,
There is a brighter world on high,
Beyond the reach of care and pain.

4 Then let the hope of joys to come Dispel our cares, and chase our fears: If God be ours, we're traveling home, Though passing through a vale of tears.

DAVID E. FORD.

961 A peaceful death besought.

1 SHRINKING from the cold hand of death,
I soon shall gather up my feet;
Shall soon resign this fleeting breath,
And die, my fathers' God to meet.
2 Numbered among thy people, I
Expect with joy thy face to see:
Because thou didst for sinners die,
Jesus, in death remember me!
3 O that without a lingering groan
I may the welcome word receive;
My body with my charge lay down,
And cease at once to work and live!

4 Walk with me through the dreadful shade,

And, certified that thou art mine,

My spirit, calm and undismayed,
I shall into thy hands resign.

5 No anxious doubt, no guilty gloom,
Shall damp whom Jesus' presence cheers:
My Light, my Life, my God is come,
And glory in his face appears.

962

CHARLES WESLEY.

The soul's best portion.

1 ALMIGHTY Maker of my frame,
Teach me the measure of my days;
Teach me to know how frail I am,
And spend the remnant to thy praise.

2 My days are shorter than a span;
A little point my life appears;
How frail, at best, is dying man!

How vain are all his hopes and fears! 3 Vain his ambition, noise, and show; Vain are the cares which rack his mind 、 He heaps up treasures mixed with woe, And dies, and leaves them all behind. 4 O be a nobler portion mine!

My God, I bow before thy throne; Earth's fleeting treasures I resign, And fix my hope on thee alone.

ANNE STEELE.

MEAR.

C. M.

WELSH AIR. AARON WILLIAMS,

1 THEE We adore, eternal Name,
And humbly own to thee
How feeble is our mortal frame,
What dying worms are we.

2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
As days and months increase;
And every beating pulse we tell

Leaves but the number less.

3 The year rolls round, and steals away The breath that first it gave: Whate'er we do, where'er we be, We're traveling to the grave.

4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground

To push us to the tomb;
And fierce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.

5 Infinite joy, or endless woe,
Attends on every breath;
And yet how unconcerned we go,
Upon the brink of death!

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

Doxology.

ISAAC WATTS.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
The God whom we adore,
Be glory, as it was, is now,
And shall be evermore.

TATE AND BRADY.

MERIBAH.

C. P. M.

LOWELL MASON.

ங்

966 The brink of fate.

1 THOU God of glorious majesty,
To thee, against myself, to thee,
A worm of earth, I cry;
A half-awakened child of man,
An heir of endless bliss or pain,
A sinner born to die.

2 Lo! on a narrow neck of land,
"Twixt two unbounded seas, I stand,
Secure, insensible:

A point of time, a moment's space, Removes me to that heavenly place, Or shuts me up in hell.

3 O God, mine inmost soul convert, And deeply on my thoughtful heart Eternal things impress:

Give me to feel their solemn weight, And tremble on the brink of fate, And wake to righteousness.

4 Before me place in dread array,
The pomp of that tremendous day,
When thou with clouds shalt come
To judge the nations at thy bar;
And tell me, Lord, shall I be there
To meet a joyful doom?

5 Be this my one great business here, With serious industry and fear

Eternal bliss to insure;
Thine utmost council to fulfill,
And suffer all thy righteous will,
And to the end endure.

6 Then, Saviour, then my soul receive,
Transported from this vale, to live
And reign with thee above,
Where faith is sweetly lost in sight,
And hope in full, supreme delight,
And everlasting love.

CHARLES WESLEY.

LONDON TUNE BOOK.

1 IF death my friend and me divide,
Thou dost not, Lord, my sorrow chide,
Or frown my tears to see;
Restrained from passionate excess,
Thou bidd'st me mourn in calm distress
For them that rest in thee.

2 I feel a strong immortal hope,
Which bears my mournful spirit up,
Beneath its mountain load;

Redeemed from death, and grief, and pain,
I soon shall find my friend again
Within the arms of God.

3 Pass a few fleeting moments more,
And death the blessing shall restore
Which death has snatched away;
For me thou wilt the summons send,
And give me back my parted friend,
In that eternal day.

968

CHARLES WESLEY.

The momentous question.

1 AND am I only born to die?
And must I suddenly comply
With nature's stern decree?
What after death for me remains?
Celestial joys, or hellish pains,
To all eternity!

2 How then ought I on earth to live,
While God prolongs the kind reprieve,
And props the house of clay?
My sole concern, my single care,
To watch, and tremble, and prepare
Against that fatal day.

3 No room for mirth or trifling here,

For worldly hope, or worldly fear,
If life so soon is gone;

If now the Judge is at the door,
And all mankind must stand before
The inexorable throne!

4 No matter which my thoughts employ,

A moment's misery or joy;

But O! when both shall end,

Where shall I find my destined place ? Shall I my everlasting days

With flends, or angels spend?

5 Nothing is worth a thought beneath, But how I may escape the death

That never, never dies;

How make mine own election sure;
And, when I fail on earth, secure
A mansion in the skies.

6 Jesus, vouchsafe a pitying ray;
Be thou my guide, be thou my way
To glorious happiness.

Ah! write the pardon on my heart,
And whensoe'er I hence depart,
Let me depart in peace.

CHARLES WESLEY.

969 The dying Christian to his sour.
1 VITAL spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O quit this mortal frame;
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O 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 spirit, 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?"

Doxology.

ALEXANDER POPE.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

The God whom heaven's triumphant host And saints on earth adore;

Be glory as in ages past,

And now it is, and so shall last,
When time shall be no more!

TATE AND BRADY.