1317

The dying Believer to his Soul.
2 Lo, He beckons from on high,
Fearless to His presence fly:
Thine the merit of His Blood;
Thine the Righteousness of God.
Angels, joyful to attend,
Hovering round thy pillow, bend;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort thee quick to heaven.

3 Shudder not to pass the stream;

Venture all thy care on Him;
Him, whose dying love and power
Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar.
Safe is the expanded wave,
Gentle as a summer's eve;
Not one object of His care
Ever suffered shipwreck there.

4 See the haven full in view;

Love divine shall bear thee through; Trust to that propitious gale; Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail. Saints, in glory perfect made, Wait thy passage through the shade; Ardent for thy coming o'er, See, they throng the blissful shore. Rev Augustus Montague Toplady (1740-1778.) 1776. ab. and alt.

2 Prisoner, long detained below,

Prisoner, now with freedom blest, Welcome from a world of woe;

Welcome to a land of rest: Thus the choir of angels sing, As they bear the soul on high, While with hallelujahs ring

All the regions of the sky.

3 Grave, the guardian of our dust, Grave, the treasury of the skies, Every atom of thy trust

Rests in hope again to rise: Hark, the judgment-trumpet calls, Soul, rebuild thy house of clay; Immortality thy walls,

And eternity thy day.

James Montgomery. (1771-1854-) 1803

HARKNESS. 7. D.

Arr. from Johann C. W. A. Mozart. (1756-1791.)

2 Followed by their works, they go Where their Head hath gone before; Reconciled by grace below,

Grace hath opened mercy's door; Justified through faith alone,

Here they knew their sins forgiven; Here they laid their burden down, Hallowed, and made fit for heaven.

3 Who can now lament the lot

Of a saint in Christ deceased? Let the world, who knows us not, Call us hopeless and unblest: Jesus smiles and says, "Well done,

Good and faithful servant thou! Enter, and receive thy crown;

Reign with Me triumphant now!"

4 Angels catch the approving sound,
Bow, and bless the just award,
Hail the heir with glory crowned,
Now rejoicing with his Lord;
Fuller joys ordained to know,
Waiting for the general doom,
When the archangel's trump shall blow,
"Rise, ye dead, to judgment come."

Rev. Charles Wesley. (1708-1788.) 1742. ab.

1320

A Funeral Hymn. ILO, the prisoner is released,

Lightened of his fleshly load;
Where the weary are at rest,

He is gathered unto God:
Lo, the pain of life is past,

All his warfare now is o'er,
Death and hell behind are cast,
Grief and suffering are no more.

2 Yes, the Christian's course is run,
Ended is the glorious strife;
Fought the fight, the work is done,
Death is swallowed up of life;
Borne by angels on their wings,

Far from earth the spirit flies,
Finds his God, and sits and sings,
Triumphing in Paradise.

3 Blessing, honor, thanks, and praise,
Pay we, gracious God, to Thee;
Thou, in Thine abundant grace,

Givest us the victory:
True and faithful to Thy word,

Thou hast glorified Thy Son;
Jesus Christ, our dying Lord,
He for us the fight hath won.

Rev. Charles Wesley. 1742. ab. and sl. alt.

1321 The Death and Burial of a Saint. 2 Are we not tending upward, too, As fast as time can move?

Nor would we wish the hours more slow,
To keep us from our love.

3 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,

And left a long perfume.

4 The graves of all His saints He blessed, And softened every bed;

Where should the dying members rest
But with the dying Head?

5 Thence He arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rising-day.

6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye saints, ascend the skies.

1 As Jesus died, and rose again Victorious from the dead,

So His disciples rise, and reign

With their triumphant Head.

2 The time draws nigh, when from the clouds
Christ shall with shouts descend;
And the last trumpet's awful voice
The heavens and earth shall rend.

3 Then they who live shall changéd be,
And they who sleep shall wake;
The graves shall yield their ancient charge,
And earth's foundations shake.

4 The saints of God, from death set free, With joy shall mount on high;

5

The heavenly host, with praises loud,
Shall meet them in the sky.

Together to their Father's house
With joyful hearts they go;

And dwell for ever with the Lord,
Beyond the reach of woe.

6 A few short years of evil past,
We reach the happy shore,
Where death-divided friends at last
Shall meet, to part no more.

Michael Bruce. (1746—1767.) 1781. ab.

the dust;

And give these

sa-cred rel

the dust.

1324

At the Interment of a Body. 2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear Invade thy bounds. No mortal woes Can reach the peaceful sleeper here,

While angels watch the soft repose.

3 So Jesus slept: God's dying Son

Passed thro' the grave, and blest the bed;
Rest here, blest saint, till from His throne
The morning break, and pierce the shade.
4 Break from His throne, illustrious morn;
Attend, O earth, His sovereign word;
Restore thy trust: a glorious form
Shall then ascend to meet the Lord.
Rev. Isaac Watts. 1734. alt.

Death not the End of our Being.
Ps. lxviii.

1325
I SHALL man, O God of light and life,
For ever moulder in the grave?
Canst Thou forget Thy glorious work,
Thy promise, and Thy power to save?
2 In those dark silent realms of night,

Shall peace and hope no more arise? No future morning light the tomb,

No day-star gild the darksome skies? 3 Cease, cease, ye vain desponding fears: When Christ, our Lord, from darkness sprang,