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F. D. BARNES.
821 THE MORNING BREAKS. L. M.
Copyright, 1894, by CHAS. H. WOODMAN, Manager.
823 1 The morning breaks, the saints come forth, 1 Sweet is the thought, the promise sweet, Earth shall no more conceal her slain ;
That friends, long-severed friends, shall Though now entombed in sea and earth,
meet, They shall come forth with Christ to
That kindred souls, on earth disjoined, reign.
Shall meet, from earthly dross refined. 2 The morning breaks, the conq’ror comes, 2 But for this hope, this blessed stay,
No more shall death the tyrant reign; When earthly comforts all decay,
O who could view th’expiring eye,
Nor wish, with those they love, to die? 3 The morning breaks, the day comes on, 3 But we have brighter hopes : we know
When pain and death nomore shall be ; Short is this pilgrimage of woe ; When Christ shall bring his people home, We know that our Redeemer lives ; To spend the long eternity.
We trust the promises he gives.
F. D. BARNES. 822
824 1 O happy day! that bursts the tomb,
1 Spare us, O Lord, aloud we cry, And sets the joyful prisoners free ;
Nor let our sun go down at noon;
Thy years are one eternal day,
And must thy children die so soon?
2 Yet in the midst of death and grief, 2 O happy day! when earth so bright,
This thought our sorrow shall assuage :
Our Father and our Saviour lives,
Christ is the same through every age.
3 ’T was he this earth's foundation laid ; 3 O happy day! when far around,
Heaven is the building of his hand ; Through all this universal frame,
This earth grows old, these heavens shall One glorious anthem shall resound
fade, Of blessing to Jehovah's name.
And all be changed at his command. 4 O happy day! that knows no night; 4 Before thy face thy saints shall live,
No sorrow with thy joy shall blend ; And on thy throne thy children reign;
g 4 1. I know that my Re-deem-er lives, He lives, and on the earth shall stand;
And though to worms my flesh he gives, My dust lies numbered in
827 1 I know that my Redeemer lives, 1 Almighty Maker of my frame,
He lives, and on the earth shall stand ; Teach me the measure of my days; And though to worms my flesh he gives, Teach me to know how frail I am,
My dust lies numbered in his hand. And spend the remnant to thy praise. 2 In this reanimated clay
2 My days are shorter than a span; I surely shall behold him near ;
A little point my life appears ;
How frail at best is dying man!
How vain are all his hopes and fears ! 3 I know what then shall raise me up ; 3 O spare me, and my strength restore,
The quickening Spirit dwells in me! Ere my few hasty minutes flee; This is my confidence and hope,
And when the course of time is o'er, That I him face to face shall see.
Then raise me up to dwell with thee. 4 Mine own, and not another's eyes, 828
The King shall in his beauty view ; 1 Blessed are they henceforth that die I shall from him receive the prize,
Reclining on the Saviour's breast; The starry crown to victors due. They cease from every care and sigh, 826
From all their labors they have rest. 1 The saints may rest within the tomb 2 No more they meet with cruel foes, Awhile until the morning come;
No more with anxious care oppressed : Then shall they rise to meet their God, They warred the conflict till life's close ; And ever dwell in his abode.
Their toil is o'er, they sweetly rest. 2 Celestial dawn! Triumphant hour! 3 The living saints have yet to meet
How glorious that awakening power And brave the tempter's utmost ire ; Which bids the sleeping dust arise, The grave will be a blest retreat [dire. And join the anthems of the skies !
.While earth is whelmed in troubles 3 This weary life will soon be past, 4 Thy righteous will be done, O God! The lingering morn will come at last,
To meet the foe and overcome, And gloomy mists will roll away
Or lay me down beneath the sod Before that bright, unfading day.
To rest till thou shalt call me home.
R. F. COTTRELL.
I SHALL BE SATISFIED. P. M.
2 0 I shall be satisfied when I can cast
The shadows of nature all by ;
And there is an unclouded sky.
When earth's fairest objects will fade ;
In glory and beauty arrayed.
When freed from this wearisome clay,
It sighs for the dawn of that day.
Wit ose blest mansions, and when
SWEETLY SING. Ss & 7s. ff Maestoso.
F. O. WELLCOME.
Copyright, 1894, by Chas. H. WOODMAN, Manager.
1 Sweetly sing, ye winds, the brightness
That remaineth for the dead, Who, in robes of stainless whiteness,
Soon shall leave the dusty bed. Darkness reigns where they are lying,
But they only wait the day When shall cease the mourner's sighing,
As the death-gloom flees away. 2 Summer winds be softly singing
All around their blessed graves ; Flowers sweet, be fragrance flinging,
As the verdure o'er them waves.
Nevermore shall sadly weep,
When they rise from sacred sleep.
3 They shall leave the dust, all beaming,
Like the plumage of the dove,
As it sings its song of love.
They shall in his image shine,
Shall be dimmed by light divine. 4 Sweetly sing, ye birds, their brightness,
When, through all the summer day, Ye may leap with wings of lightness,
When the frosts have passed away. Even now the silver lining
Is around the gloom we dread, Glowing with an endless shining,
Which shall robe the blessed dead.
G. R. KRAMER.
F. 0. WELLCOME.
we en - ter in - to glo - ry At the res - ur - rec- tion light, 2. When we see the saints all beam-ing In their crowns and robes of white, 3. If we see the har-vest glow-ing In the grand e
ter - nal rays, 4. Let us wait for Christ from heaven, As the church in days of
Copyright, 1894, by Chas. H. WOODMAN, Manager. Words by G. R. KRAMER.
D.C. for Chorus.
Will it be cause for weep-ing When our tears are wiped a