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L. M. .
The end of things created!
On clouds of glory seated :
Prepare, my soul, to meet Him. 2. The dead in Christ shall first arise,
At the last trumpet's sounding,
With joy their Lord surrounding :
On those prepared to meet Him. 3. But sinners, filled with guilty fears,
Behold His wrath prevailing;
And sighs are unavailing:
All unprepared to meet Him.
The end of things created !
On clouds of glory seated :
And thus prepare to meet Him.
L. M. 1. The Lord will come; the earth shall quake.
The hills their fixed seat forsake;
2. The Lord will come, but not the same
As once in lowly form he came;
The bruised, the suffering, and the dead. 3. The Lord will come-a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame, and robe of storm,
Anointed Judge of human kind.
A pilgrim on the world's highway,
O God, is this the Crucified ?
"Rocks, hide us! mountains, on us fall!"
1. SHALL man, O God of light and lifo !
Forever molder in the grave ?
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,
Nor day-star gild the darksome skies? 3. Cease, cease, yo vain, desponding fears!
When Christ, our Lord, from darkness sprang, Death, the last foe, was captive led,
And heaven with praise and wonder rang. 4. Faith sees the bright eternal doors
Unfold to make her children way;
And shine in everlasting day.
5. The trump shall sound—the dead shall wake,
From the cold tomb the slumberers spring; Through heaven, with joy, their myriads rise, And hail their Saviour and their King.
L. M. 6 lines.
When grace descends in silent showers;
Looks up in calmness, Lord, to Thee !
Be deeply felt in every part:
Thyself the type, from line to line !
Breathe sweetly from Thy throne above:
Alike they ’re needful for the flower;
Father, Thy will, not mine, be done!
With murmurs whom they trust and love?
3. O ne'er will I at life repine !
Enough that Thou hast made it mine;
SARAH F. ADAMA.
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.
Perhaps they watch with guardian care,
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 can not check, thought can not bound,
The high exulting souls, whom He,
Takes to His own eternity.
The song of triumph high to God,
Walk humbly in the path they trod.
1. Why should we start, and fear to die?
What timorous worms we mortals are !
And yet we dread to enter there.
2. The pains, the groans, and dying strife,
Fright our approaching souls away ;
Fond of our prison and our clay.
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,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.
1. The great archangel's trump shall sound, While twice ten thousand thunders roar,
the graves and cleave the ground,
The earth no more her slain conceal;
And shrink to see a yawning hell. 3. But we who now our Lord confess,
And faithful to the end endure,
Stand, as the Rock of Ages, sure.
And mountains are on mountains hurled
And smile to see a burning world; 5. The earth and all the ks therein
Dissolve, by raging flames destroyed;
And mount above the fiery void.