480.

mp

aff

481.

The Issues of Life and Death.

1 O, WHERE shall rest be found,
Rest for the weary soul?

'Tis vain the ocean-depths to sound,
Or pierce to either pole:

The world can never give

The bliss, for which we sigh;
'Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.

2 Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,
Unmeasur'd by the flight of years,
And all that life is love:
There is a death, whose pang
Outlasts the fleeting breath;
O what eternal horrors hang
Around the "second death!"

8 Lord God of truth and grace,
Teach us that death to shun,
Lest we be banish'd from thy face,
And evermore undone ;

Here would we end our quest;
Alone are found in Thee

The life of perfect love,―the rest
Of Immortality!

MONTGOMERY,

1 MAN is the child of wo,

His days are fill'd with care,

Till scythe shall lay his blossoms low,
And all his pride o'erbear.

2 The tree will sprout again,

Though struck by feller's blow;

But man, will he his growth regain,
When in the grave laid low?

3 Man wastes away, and dies,
And crumbles in the ground;
His freed, immortal spirit flies,
Nor here again is found.

4 His sleep beneath the clod

Is calm, and shall be so,

Till comes the judgment day from God,
When earth in flames shall glow!

ALLEN.

Ramoth. 97th Psalm.

Triumph over Death.

1 WHY should we start and fear to die? What tim❜rous worms we, mortals, are! mf Death is the gate of endless joy;

mf

And yet we dread to enter there.

2 The pains, the groans, the dying strife
Fright our approaching souls away;
We still shrink back again to life,
Fond of our prison and our clay.

3 0, if my Lord to me would come,
My soul in haste should stretch her wings,
And fly, rejoicing, to her home,

As sky-lark, mounting upward, sings!

mp 4 JESUS can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are,

mf

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While, strong in faith, and free from dread,
I breathe my life out sweetly there!

WATTS.

483.

(ii. 3.)

C. M.

Mear. China.

Death of a Saint.

1 WHY weep we for departing friends?
Or shake at death's alarms?

'T is but the voice, that Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms.

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,
In silence and in gloom.

4 The graves of all the saints He bless'd,
And soften'd ev'ry bed:

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

5 Thence He arose, ascended high,
And show'd our feet the way:
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly
At the great, rising day.

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

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WATTS.

Bangor, Funeral Thought.

At a Funeral.

1 HARK! from the tombs a doleful sound'
Mine ears attend the cry,―

"Ye living men, come view the ground,
Where you must shortly lie!

2 "Princes! this clay must be your bed,
In spite of all your towers;

The tall, the wise, the rev'rend head
Must lie as low, as ours!"

3 Great God! is this our certain doom?
Must we too slumber there?

Are we fast hast'ning to the tomb,
And yet no more prepare?

Aff 4 0, grant us heav'nly pow'r afresh,
To fit our souls to fly;

Then, when we drop this dying flesh,
We'll rise above the sky!

WATTS.

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485.

(ii. 110.)

S. M. Cedron. Little Marlborough.

Death and the Resurrection.

1 AND must this body die?

This wondrous frame decay?

And must these active limbs soon lie,
And moulder in the clay?

2 Though worms my frame devour,
They shall refine this flesh,

Till my returning spirit's hour
To put it on afresh.

467.

(i. 83.)

C. M.

Grafton. Bangor.

Affliction from God.

1 NOT from the dust affliction grows,
Nor troubles rise by chance;

Yet we are born to cares and woes,
A sad inheritance!

2 As sparks break out from burning coals,
And still are upwards borne,
So grief is rooted in our souls,
And man grows up to mourn.

3 Yet with my God I leave my cause,
And trust his promis'd love;

468.

He rules me by his righteous laws,
Reveal'd from heav'n above.

L. M.

WATTS.

Nazareth. German Hymn.

Afflictions sanctified by the Word.
1 0 HOW I love thy holy word,
Thy gracious covenant, O Lord?
It guides me in the peaceful way,
I think upon it all the day.

? What are the mines of shining wealth,
The strength of youth, the bloom of health?
What are all joys, compar'd with those,
Thine everlasting word bestows?

3 Long unafflicted, undismayed,
In pleasure's path secure I strayed;
Thou mad'st me feel thy chast'ning rod,
And straight I turn'd unto my God.

4 What though it pierc'd my fainting heart?
I bless thy hand, that caus'd the smart ;
It taught my tears awhile to flow,

But sav'd me from eternal wo.

5 O, hadst Thou left me unchastis'd,
Thy precept I had still despis'd;
And still the snare, in secret laid,
Had my unwary feet betrayed.

Aff 6 I love Thee, therefore, O my God!
And breathe towards thy dear abode,

469.

Where, in thy presence fully blest,
Thy chosen saints forever rest!

S. M.

COWPER.

Shawmut. St. Thomas.

The Discipline of Affliction.

Aff 1 NOW throw away thy rod;
Now throw away thy wrath,

O, Thou, most kind and loving God,
And take the gentle path!

2 Thou seest my heart's desire
Full unto Thee is bent,

And how, submissive, I aspire
Unto a full consent.

3 Then let thy wrath remove,
For love will do the deed;
For surely 'tis by heav'nly love,
That stony hearts will bleed.

4 Now throw away thy rod;-
Although man frailties hath,

470.

Yet Thou, the Chast'ner, Thou art God!
O, throw away thy wrath!

8 & 7.

ᎻᎬᎡᏴᎬᎡᎢ,

Smyrna. Greenville.

Mourning the pious Dead.

1 WHY, ye Mourners, are ye weeping
O'er the lovely form, laid low?

Why your hearts in grief now steeping?
Why do tears of anguish flow?

Ye did love the friend, now sleeping,
Sleeping free from care and wo;
Would ye have the lov'd one reaping
Evil harvest here below?

2 Why, ye Mourners, do ye sorrow?
Ye shall meet that friend once more!
Yes, perchance, to-night, to-morrow;
Soon the flight of time is o'er;
Then to dwelling low and narrow
While your body we restore,
Your blest spirit wings will borrow,
Flying up to joys e'ermore!

ALLEN.