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658

P. M.
Funeral Hymn.

1 THOU art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee;

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb,

The Savior has passed through its portals before thee,

And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.

BISHOP HEBER.

2 Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died.

3 Thou art gone to the grave, and, its mansions forsaking,

Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered long; But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,

And the song that thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave, but 'twere wrong to deplore thee,

When God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian, and
Guide;

He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore

thee,

Where death has no sting, since the Savior has died.

659

P. M.

Funeral Hymn.

1 BROTHER, thou art gone before us,
And thy saintly soul is flown

Where tears are wiped from every eye,
And sorrow is unknown,

From the burden of the flesh,

And from care and fear released, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest.

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MILMAN.

2 Sin can never taint thee now,
Nor doubt thy faith assail,
Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ
And the Holy Spirit fail:

And there thou'rt sure to meet the good,
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

3 "Earth to earth," and "dust to dust,"
The solemn priest hath said;

So we lay the turf above thee now,
And we seal thy narrow bed:

But thy spirit, brother, soars away
Among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

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660

L. M.

A funeral de.

1 UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb;
Take this new treasure to thy trust,
And give these sacred relics room,
To seek a slumber in the dust.

2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,
Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes
Can reach the peaceful sleeper here,
And angels watch the soft repose.

WATTS.

3 So Jesus slept; God's dying Son

Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed; Rest here, dear saint, till from his throne

The morning break, and pierce the shade.

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4 Break from his throne, illustrious morn;
Attend, O earth, his sovereign word;
Restore thy trust, a glorious form:
It must ascend to meet the Lord.

7s M.

Death of the Righteous.

1 HARK! a voice divides the sky;
Happy are the faithful dead;
In the Lord who sweetly die,

METHODIST COL.

They from all their toils are freed:
Them the Spirit hath declared

Blest, unutterably blest ;
Jesus is their great reward,
Jesus is their endless rest.

2 Followed by their works they go
Where their Head is 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 meet for heaven.

3 Who can now lament the lot

Of a saint in Christ deceased?
Let the world, who know us not,

Call us hopeless and unblest:
When from flesh the spirit freed

Hastens homeward to return,
Mortals cry, "A man is dead!"
Angels sing, "A child is born! "

662

C. M.

"Blessed are the Dead that die in the Lord."

1 HEAR what the voice from heaven proclaims For all the pious dead:

Sweet is the savor of their names,
And soft their sleeping bed.

WATTS.

2 They die in Jesus, and are blessed;
How kind their slumbers are!
From sufferings and from sins released,
And freed from every snare.

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.

663

L. M.

The Young cut off in their Prime.

1 THE morning flowers display their sweets, And, gay, their silken leaves unfold,

As careless of the noontide heats
As fearless of the evening cold.

S. WESLEY.

2 Nipped by the wind's untimely blast, Parched by the sun's directer ray, The momentary glories waste,

The short-lived beauties die away.

3 So blooms the human face divine,

When youth its pride of beauty shows; Fairer than spring the colors shine,

And sweeter than the virgin rose.

4 Or worn by slowly-rolling years,

Or broke by sickness in a day, The fading glory disappears,

The short-lived beauties die away.

5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine,
Revive with ever-during bloom,
Safe from diseases and decline.

6 Let sickness blast, let death devour,

If heaven must recompense our pains:
Perish the grass, and fade the flower,
If firm the word of God remains.

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