To triumph o'er the monster, death,
And all his frightful powers!

mf 2 Joyful, with all the strength I have,
My quiv'ring lips shall sing,-
"Where is thy boasted vict'ry, grave?
And where, O death, thy sting?"

3 If sin be pardon'd, I'm secure ;
Death has no sting beside:

Faith gives a hope, that shall endure,
For Christ, my ransom, died!

mf 4 Now to the God of victory

Be thanks for all his love,

Who makes us conqu'rors, while we die,
Through Christ, who lives above!

4.88.

(ii. 65.)

aff

WATTS.

C. M. St. Martin's. Archdale.

Hope of Heaven.

1 WHEN I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,
I bid farewell to ev'ry fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.

2 Should earth against my soul engage,
And hellish darts be hurled ;
Then I can smile at Satan's rage,
And face a frowning world.

3 Let cares, like a wild deluge, come,
And storms of sorrow fall;

May I but safely reach my home,
My God, my heav'n,-my all!-

4 There shall I bathe my weary soul
In seas of heav'nly rest,

And not a wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast!

>

WATTS.

Woodstock. Arlington.

Vision of Christ at Death.

1 "NOW let me die!"-"Twas Simeon's word;

"And close my peaceful eyes!

I've seen thy great salvation, Lord
The Savior from the skies"

2 JESUS! the Gentiles' joyful light,
Thine Israel's hope and stay,

O, that, in death, of Thee the sight
May cheer my gloomy way!

mp 3 Then, while the pulse of life grows weak,
How sweet my minutes roll!

A mortal paleness on my cheek,
And glory in my soul!

f

WATTS.

St. Ann's. Marlow,

1 THERE is a house, not made with hands,
Eternal, and on high;

And here my spirit waiting stands,
'Till God shall bid it fly.

2 Shortly this prison of my clay
Must be dissolv'd and fall;
Then, O my soul, with joy obey
Thy heav'nly Father's call.

8 'Tis He, by his almighty grace,
Who forms thee fit for heaven,
And, as an earnest of the place,
Hath his own Spirit given.

4 We walk by faith of joys to come;
Faith lives upon his word;

But, while the body is our home,
We're absent from the Lord.

5 The future, promis'd good we love ;
But we would rather see!

Aff O, that we now, in heav'n above,
Were present, Lord, with Thee!

$491.

(ii. 66.)

C. M.

Prospect of Heaven.

WATTS.

Nichols. Jordan.

mf 1 THERE is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Unfading day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.

2 There everlasting spring abides,
-And never-with'ring flowers:

Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heav'nly land from ours.

3 Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood,
Stand dress'd in living green ;—

So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan roll'd between.

4 But tim'rous mortals start, and shrink
To cross this narrow sea,

And linger, shiv'ring on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

5 0, could we make our doubts remove,
Those gloomy doubts, that rise,
And see the Canaan, that we love,
With unbeclouded eyes:-

mf 6 Could we but climb, where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er;

492.

mp

Not Jordan's stream, not death's cold flood
Should fright us from the shore.

(i. 18.)

WATTS.

C.M. Woodstock. Arlington.

Blessed are they, who die in the Lord. Rev. 14.

1 HEAR what the voice from heav'n proclaims For all the pious dead!

Sweet is the savor of their names,

And soft their sleeping bed.

2 They die in Jesus, and are blest ;
How calm their slumbers are?

From suff'rings and from sins at rest,
And freed from ev'ry snare!

mf 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!

493.

WATTS.

End of the Righteous.

mp 1 0, FOR the happy end

Of him, who peaceful dies,

Who, as the weepers o'er him bend,
Lifts up his rapt'rous eyes!

471.

8, 7 & 4. Mourner Comforted.

Oliphant. Tamworth.

mf 1 JESUS, o'er the grave victorious,
Rose the first fruits from the dead,
Then to heav'n ascended glorious,
And the news through earth is spread:
Yes, our Savior

Rose the first fruits from the dead!

mp 2 Why, then, mourner, art thou weeping, While the form, which thou didst love, Safe in JESUS now is sleeping,

mf

And will rise to heav'n above?
Yes, O mourner,

Rise to dwell in heav'n above!

3 Cease, then, all thy bitter wailing:
Since thou mayst be soon removed,
Live for God, with faith unfailing,
Seek by Him to be approved;
So in glory

Thou shalt meet the form beloved!

ALLEN.

Mount Vernon. Greenville.

Mourners consoled.

1 CEASE, ye mourners, cease to sorrow
For the lov'd one, now at rest:
Why from fancy will ye borrow
Thoughts to make your grief unblest?

2 Though the form, so lov'd and lovely,
Now doth sleep in narrow cell,
Sure 'tis gainful and behovely
Far from earthly wo to dwell.

3 It were sad and melancholy,
What no friend should wish to do,
Back to bring from raptures holy
One, that death has passed through:

4 One, that lives, beyond death's power,
In a world of pure delight;

One, that finds a peaceful bower
In yon heaven's glorious light!

Aff 5 Blessed JESUS! when we, dying,

473.

Seek thy guidance through the gloom,
Hear Thou, then, our earnest crying,
Bring us safely to our home!

8 & 7. Mourner comforted.

ALLEN.

Sicily. Greenville.

1 MOURNER! wert thou one, that dreameth
Of the grave as endless sleep,
Well indeed it then beseemeth
Thee with ceaseless tears to weep.

2 But, as thou art well persuaded,
All the dead again shall rise,
Why art thou by griefs invaded?
Why do tears bedew thine eyes?

mf 3 Hark! th' arch angel's trump is ringing!
Its shrill note doth pierce each grave:
Lo, the dead to life are springing ;
All, whom Jesus died to save!

mf

4 Dost thou see thy friend arising
In a glorious form most bright,

Destin'd,-O the thought surprising!-
E'er to dwell in heav'n's own light?

mp 5 Why then, mourner, art thou weeping?
Why do tears thine eyes bedew?
In good soil the seed is sleeping;
Soon the plant will greet the view!

f 6 Risen Savior! let a gleaming
From thy brightness reach our eye!
Wake us from our sinful dreaming;
Lead us to our home on high!

<

ALLEN.

Nineveh. Wantage.

A Warning from the Grave.

1 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 ev'ry passing breeze,
And lurks in ev'ry flower;