2 Their mighty Master bids them rise
To radiant mansions in the skies,
Where each shall wear a robe of light,
Like his, divinely fair and bright.

3 Angels shall now unite their prayers
With those of spirits blessed as theirs;
And light shall glance on every crown
From suns that never more go down.
4 No storms shall ride the troubled air,
No sounds of passion enter there;
But all be peaceful as the sigh

Of evening gales that breathe and die. 5 There parted friends again shall meet In union holy, calm, and sweet;

And earthly sorrows, fear, and pain, Shall never reach their hearts again. 6 For there the God of mercy sheds His purest influence on their heads, And gilds the spirits round his throne With glory radiant as his own.

The Death and Burial of a Saint.

1 WHY do we mourn departing friends, Or shake at death's alarms? 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends To call them to his arms.

2 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?

There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.

3 The graves of all his saints he blest,
And softened every bed;

Where should the dying members rest,
But with the dying head?

4 Thence he arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our souls shall fly
At the great rising day.

Christ's Presence makes Death easy.

1 WHY should we start and fear to die? What timorous 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 O, if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul should stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

4 Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,

And breathe my life out sweetly there.

582

760.

L. M.

W. J. LORING.

Consolation for the Loss of Pious Friends. 1 WHY weep for those, frail child of woe, Who've fled and left thee mourning here? Triumphant o'er their latest foe,

They glory in a brighter sphere.

2 Weep not for them;- beside thee now Perhaps they watch, with guardian care, And witness tears that idly flow

O'er those who bliss of angels share.

3 Or round their Father's throne above, With raptured voice, his praise they sing, Or on his messages of love

They journey with unwearied wing.

4 Space cannot check, thought cannot bound, The high-exulting souls whom he,

Who formed these million worlds around,
Takes to his own eternity.

5 Weep, weep no more; their voices raise
The song of triumph high to God;
And wouldst thou join their song of praise,
Walk humbly in the path they trod.

1 ""T IS finished!" so the Saviour cried, And meekly bowed his head, and died: "'T is finished!" yes, the race is run, The battle fought, the victory won.

2 "'T is finished!” all that heaven foretold
By prophets in the days of old ;
And truths are opened to our view,
That kings and prophets never knew.
3T is finished!" Son of God, thy power
Hath triumphed in this awful hour;
And yet our eyes with sorrow see
That life to us was death to thee.

Christ our Life in Death.

1 WE tread the path our Master trod :
We bear the cross he bore;
And every thorn that wounds our feet
His temples pierced before.

2 Oft do our eyes with joy o'erflow,
And oft are bathed in tears;

Yet nought but heaven our hopes can raise,
And nought but sin our fears.

3 We purge our mortal dross away,
Refining as we run;

And while we die to earth and sense,
Our heaven is here begun.

763.

P. M.

Para. from the German.

A Prayer in Trouble.

1 FATHER, I call to thee!

Guide me triumphant, or if dying, still guide me;
The dark valley brightens if thou art beside me;
Even as thou wilt, so guide thou me!
God, I acknowledge thee!

2 God, I acknowledge thee!

As when the leaves are by autumn winds driven,
So when the storm-cloud of battle is riven,
Fountain of mercy, I call to thee!
Father, O bless thou me!

3 Father, O bless thou me!
Calmly my life to thy hands I deliver;
Be thou its guardian as thou wast its giver;
Living or dying, O bless thou me!
God, I repose in thee!

4 God, I repose in thee!

When the sharp terrors of death shall assail me, When heart and flesh in the conflict shall fail me, Then to thyself, my God, take thou me! Father, I call to thee!

764. 11 & 10s. M.

LONGFELLOW.

Peace.

1 Down the dark future, through long generations, The sounds of war grow fainter, and then

cease;

And like a bell with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!"

2 Peace! and no longer, from its brazen portals, The blast of war's great organ shakes the

skies;

But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.