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6 And man, when laid in lonesome grave,

Shall sleep in death's dark gloom,
Until the eternal morning wake

The slumbers of the tomb.

497

C. M.

Bishop HEBER.

Man's Mortality.

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 Their names are graven on the stone,

Their bones are in the clay;
And ere another day is done,

Ourselves may be as they.
3 Death rides on every passing breeze;

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

Its peril every hour.
4 Turn, mortal, turn ! thy danger know;

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

And warns thee of her dead.

5 Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply

To truths divinely given;
The bones that underneath thee lie

Shall live for hell or heaven.

393

498

C. M. Scotch PARAPHRASES. The Peace of the Grate. Job ii. 17—20. 1 HOW still and peaceful is the grave!

Where, life's vain tumults past, The appointed house, by Heaven's decree,

Receives us all at last. 2 The wicked there from troubling cease;

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

From all the toils he bore.
3 There rest the prisoners, now released

From slavery's sad abode;
No more they hear the oppressor's voice,

Or dread the tyrant's rod.
4 There servants, masters, small and great,

Partake the same repose ;
And there, in peace, the ashes mix

Of those who once were foes.
5 All, levelled by the hand of death,

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

To meet their final doom.

499
S. M.

DODDRIDGE. Reflections on the State of our Fathers. 1 HOW swift the torrent rolls,

That bears us to the sea !
The tide that bears our thoughtless souls

To vast eternity!

2 Our fathers, where are they,

With all they called their own?
Their joys, and griefs, and hopes, and cares,

And wealth, and honor gone. 3 There, where the fathers lie,

Must all the children dwell;
Nor other heritage possess,

But such a gloomy cell. 4 God of our fathers, hear,

Thou everlasting Friend !
While we, as on life's utmost verge,

Our souls to thee commend. 5 Of all the pious dead

May we the footsteps trace,
Till with them in the land of light

We dwell before thy face.

500

C. M.

H. K. WHITE. Journeying through Death to Life. 1 THROUGH sorrow's night, and danger's path,

Amid the deepening gloom,
We, soldiers of a heavenly King,

Are marching to the tomb.
2 There, when the turmoil is no more,

And all our powers decay, Our cold remains in solitude

Shall sleep the years away. 3 Our labors done, securely laid

In this our last retreat, Unheeded, o'er our silent dust

The storms of life shall beat.

4 Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane,

The vital spark shall lie ;
For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise,

To seek its kindred sky.

501

C. M.

WATTS.

Death and Eternity.

1 MY thoughts, that often mount the skies,

Go search the world beneath, Where Nature all in ruin lies,

And owns her sovereign, Death.
2 The tyrant ! how he triumphs here !

His trophies spread around !
And heaps of dust and bones appear

Through all the hollow ground. 3 But where the souls, those deathless things,

That left their dying clay? My thoughts, now stretch out all your wings,

And trace eternity. 4 Some hearty friend shall drop his tear

On our dry bones, and say, " These once were strong as mine appear,

And mine must be as they." 5 Thus shall our mouldering members teach

What now our senses learn; For dust and ashes loudest preach

Man's infinite concern.

396

502

11s M.

EPISCOPAL COL. I would not line alway.Job vii. 16. 1 I WOULD not live alway; I ask not to stay

Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way; I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin,

Temptation without, and corruption within. 2 I would not live alway; no

welcome the tomb; Since Jesus has lain there, I dread not its gloom ; There sweet be my rest, till he bid me arise,

To hail him in triumph descending the skies. 3 Who, who would live alway, away from his God,

Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode? Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright

plains, And the noontide of glory eternally reigns;4 Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,

Their Savior and brethren transported to greet; While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll, And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul.

503
L. M.

Logan.
The Christian summoned to depart.
1 THE hour of my departure's come;

I hear the voice that calls me home;
At last, O Lord, let trouble cease,

And let thy servant die in peace.
2 The race appointed I have run ;

The combat's o'er, the prize is won;
And now my witness is on high,
And now my record's in the sky.

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