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S. M.

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 Triumphant smiles the victor's brow,

Fanned by some guardian angel's wing: O grave! where is thy victory now,

And where, 0 death, where is thy sting! 431 OH for the death of those

Who slumber in the Lord!
Oh be like theirs my last repose,

Like theirs my last reward. 2 Their bodies, in the ground,

In silent hope may lie,
Till the last trumpet's joyful sound

Shall call them to the sky. 3 Their ransomed spirits soar,

On wings of faith and love,
To meet the Saviour they adore,

And reign with him above.
4 With us their names shall live

Through long succeeding years,
Embalmed with all our hearts can give,

Our praises and our tears. 5 Oh for the death of those

Who slumber in the Lord !
Oh be like theirs my last repose,
Like theirs my last reward.

C. M. 432

On Recovery from Sickness.
O SAVIOUR of the faithful dead,

With whom thy servants dwell,

Though cold and green the turf is spread,

Above their narrow cell,
2 No more we cling to mortal clay,

We doubt and fear no more,
Nor shrink to tread the darksome way

Which thou hast trod before.
3 When, soon or late, this feeble breath

No more to thee shall pray, Support me in the vale of death, And through the darksome way.

12s & 11s. 433

Fear of the Grave removed by Christ.
THOU art gone to the grave but we will not

deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the

tomb; The Saviour has passed through its portals before

thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through

the gloom. 2 Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer behold

thee, Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy

side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold

thee, And sinners may hope, since the Saviour hath

died. 3 Thou art gone to the grave and its mansion for

saking, Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt linger'd long; But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy

waking, And the sound thou didst hear was the seraphim's


4 Thou art gone to the grave--but we will not deplore

thee, Since God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy

guide; He gave theehe took thee—and he will restore

thee, And death hath no sting since the Saviour hath died.

8s & 7s. 434

Death the Gate to Joy and Glory.
HAPPY soul, thy days are ended,

All thy mourning days below:
Go, by angel guards attended,

To the sight of Jesus go!
Waiting to receive thy spirit,

Lo! the Saviour stands above,
Shows the purchase of his merit,

Reaches out the crown of love.
2 Struggle through thy latest passion,

To thy dear Redeemer's breast,
To his uttermost salvation,

To his everlasting rest:
For the joy he sets before thee,

Bear a momentary pain;
Die, to live a life of glory,

Suffer, with thy Lord to reign.

C. M. 435

Those blessed who die in the Lord. HEAR what the voice from heaven pro For all the pious dead !

(claims Sweet is the savor of their names,

And soft their sleeping bed. 2 They die in Jesus, and are blest;

How kind their slumbers are !

From suffering and from sin released,

They're freed from every snare.
3 Far from this world of toil and strife,

They're present with the Lord;
The labors of their mortal life
End in a large reward.

8s & 7s. 436

Those blessed who die in the Lord. CEASE, ye mourners, cease to languish

O'er the grave of those you love; Pain, and death, and night, and anguish,

Enter not the world above. 2 While our silent steps are straying,

Lonely, through night's deepening shade, Glory's brightest beams are playing

Round th' immortal spirit's head. 3 Light and peace at once deriving

From the hand of God most high,
In his glorious presence living,

They shall never-never die!
4 Endless pleasure, pain excluding,

Sickness there no more ca 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 graves of those ye love;
Far removed from pain and anguish,
They are chanting hymns above.

C. M. 437

A Warning from the Grave.
BENEATH our feet and o'er our head

Is equal warning given:

Beneath us lie the countless dead,

Above us is the heaven!
2 Death rides on every passing breeze,

And lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,

Its peril every hour. 3 Turn, mortal, turn!—thy danger know:

Where'er thy foot can tread
The earth rings hollow from below,

And warns thee of her dead!
4 Turn, Christian, turn!-thy soul apply

To truths which hourly tell,
That they who underneath thée lie

Shall live for heaven-or hell!

C. M.


The House appointed for all Living
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

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

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

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

To meet their final doom.

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