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But when we see our Saviour here,
We shall be like our Head.

3
A hope that's so divine

May trials well endure; May cleanse our souls from sense and sin,

Ås Christ the Lord is pure.

214.
Grace perfected in Glory.

1
How rich thy favours, God of grace!

How various, how divine !
Full as the ocean they are pourd,
And bright as heaven they shine.

2 God to eternal glory calls,

And shows the wondrous way
To those bright realms of peace and joy,
Where reigns unclouded day.

3
The songs of everlasting years

That mercy shall attend, Which leads, through sufferings of an hour, To joys that never end,

215. The Hope of Heaven a Support in Death

1 There is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.

2 'T'here everlasting spring abides,

And never-withering flowers : Death, like a narrow sea, divides

This heavenly land from ours.

3 Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood,

Stand dress'd in living green; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan roll'd between.

4
But timorous mortals start and shrink,

To cross this narrow sea ;
And linger, shivering, on the brink,

And fear to launch away.

Oh! could we make our doubts remove,

Those gloomy doubts that rise ; And view the Canaan that we love, With unbeclouded eyes :

6 Could we but stand, as Moses stood,

And view the landscape o'er; Not Jordan's streams, nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore.

216. Hope and Comfort of the dying Christian.

1 HARK !-to the gospel's cheering voice;

Lend ye a listening ear;
'Twill make the pious heart rejoice,
And dry up every tear.

2
For ever blessed are the dead

That in the Lord shall die ;
His servants on a dying bed
Should raise their praises high.

3
They leave their burdens here behind,

And bid farewel to woe;
Labour will end when life's resign'd,

Their rest no period know.

4
They'll toil no more for daily bread,

No more of sin complain;
No more a want will find, nor dread,
Nor feel nor fear a pain.

5
But vast rewards shall recompense

Their faithful service here :
And power and love shall banish thence
All frailty and all fear.

217.
Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.

Rev. xiv. 3.

1 Hear what the voice from heaven proclaims,

For all the pious dead :
Sweet is the savour of their names,
And soft their sleeping bed.

2
They die in Jesus and are blest :

How calm their slumbers are !
From suffering and from sin releas'd,

And freed from every snare.
Gone from this world of toil and strife,

They rest in thee, O Lord !
The labours of their mortal life
End in a large reward.

218.
This mortal shall put on immortality.'
1 Cor. xv. 52–58.

1
When the last trumpet's awful voice

This rending earth shall shake, The opening graves shall yield their charge,

And dust to life awake.

2
Those bodies that corrupted fell,

Shall uncorrupted rise ;
And mortal forms shall spring to life,
Immortal in the skies.

3
Let faith lift up her joyful voice,

Let hope exulting sing : . O grave! where is thy triumph now? o death! where is thy sting?'

4
Our God-his name be ever blest !-

Disarms that foe we dread,
And makes us conquerors when we die,
Through Christ, our living Head.

5
Then steadfast let us still remain,

Though dangers rise around; And in the work prescrib'd by God

Yet more and more abound.

219. Our Labour in the Lord shall not be in vain.

1
If we the Saviour's laws obey,
Submissive to his righteous sway,

Our happiness is sure :
Whate'er befall us here below,
Of toil, of suffering, joy or woe,
The trial soon is o’er.

2
The day will come when we shall hear
The Judge's awful call, dr near,

And rise to bliss on high;
O'er death triumphant wing our way
To realms of everlasting day,

To joys that never die.

3 Thanks be to God's redeeming grace, That sav'd our sinful mortal race,

Through Christ our glorious Head; Who took the sting of death away, Destroy'd the grave's terrific sway,

And wide his triumph spread.

Then steadfast in his work abide,
Unmov'd by every hope beside,

Abounding in his love :
Ye know your labour's not in vain,
Since life, eternal life, you gain,
With Christ, your Lord, above.

220.

The Future Recompense of Present Trials.

}
The Man who was crowned with thorns,

Whom sinners agreed to deride,
Who meekly bore scourgings and scorns,

And for us on Calvary died,
Now blessed for ever is made,

And God hath rewarded his pain; Now glory hath crowned his head ; Heaven sings of the Lamb that was slain.

2 By faith we contemplate his joy,

And hope in due season to share ; For, as our forerunner on high,

Our places he's gone to prepare : Then let us look forward to this,

And joyfully take up our cross ; His servants shall be where he is, And all that we lose is but dross.

3 The good to his followers done,

(For so hath his gospel declar'd)

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