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620.

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 languish,

O’er the grave of those you love ;
Far removed from pain and anguish,
They are chanting hymns above.

C. M.

Dying in the Lord. 1 HEAR what the voice from heaven proclams,

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 la bors of their mortal life

End in a large reward." 621.

Mourning with Hope.
1 WHY should our tears in sorrow flow

When God recalls his own;
And bids them leave a world of wo,

For an immortal crown?
2 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.
4 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!".

C. M.

C. M. 622.

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 O 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.

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.
4 There, where the fathers lie,

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

S. M.

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.

L. M. 624.

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.

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.

8s and 7s.

2 For the joy he sets 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,-

To his everlasting rest.

7s and 626.

Support in Death.
1 WHEN the vale of death appears,

Faint and cold this mortal clay,-
Kind Forerunner! soothe my fears,

Light me through the 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 attune my lyre:
Then, triumphant,-

I will join th’immortal 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, -

Thou wilt own my worthless name.

627.

C. M.

Mourning with Hope. 1 THAT once-loved form, now cold and dead,

Each mournful thought employs;
And nature 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 ;

L. M.

C. M.

There everlasting spring appears,

And joys that cannot die. 628.

Death of an Infant. 1 So fades the lovely, blooming flower,

Frail smiling solace of an hour!
So soon our transient comforts fly,

And pleasure only blooms to die. 2 Is there no kind,—no lenient art,

To heal the anguish of the heart?
Spirit of grace! be ever nigh,

Thy comforts are not made to die. 3 Bid gentle patience smile on pain,

Till dying hope shall live again;
Hope wipes the tear from sorrow s eye,

And faith points upward to the sky. 629.

The Grave peaceful. 1 HOW still and peaceful is the grave,

Where,—life's vain tumults past, Th’appointed house, by heaven's decree,

Receives us all at last! 2 The wicked there from troubling cease,

Their passions rage no more;
And there the weary pilgrim rests

From all the toils he bore.
3 All, leveled by the hand of death,

Lie sleeping in the tomb,
Till God, in judgment, call them forth
To meet their

final doom. 630.

Prospect of Death.
1 MY soul! come, meditate the day,

And think how near it stands,
When thou must quit this house of clay

And fly to unknown lands. 2 And you, my eyes ! look down and view

The hollow gaping tomb;
This gloomy prison waits for you,
Whene'er the summons come.

C. M.

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