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HYMN 446. P. M. [6]

Dying Christian.
1 VITAL spark of heavenly flame,

Quit, О quit this mortal frame !
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying !
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,

And let me languish into life!
2 Hark! they whisper! Angels say,

Sister spirit, come away :
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?

Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 3 The world recedes; it disappears ;

Heaven opens to mine eyes; mine ears
With sounds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly !
O grave, where is thy victory?
O death, where is thy sting ?

HYMN 447. L. M. [#or b]

Longing for Heaven.
1 O COULD I soar to worlds above,

That state of perfect peace and love,
How gladly would I mount and fly

On angels' wings to joys on high !
2 But, ah, still longer must I stay,
Ere darksome night is changed to day;

More crosses, sorrows, conflicts bear,

Exposed to trials, pains and care.
3 My Father knows what road is best,

And how to lead to peace and rest ;
To him I, cheerful, give my all,

Go where he leads, and wait his call. 4 When he commands

my
soul

away,
Not kingdoms then shall tempt my stay ;
With rapture I shall wake, and rise
To join my friends above the skies.

HYMN 448. C. M. [6]

God the Refuge of the Amicted. 1 AFFLICTION is a stormy deep,

Where wave resounds to wave; Though o'er our heads the billows roll,

We know the Lord can save. 2 When darkness and when sorrows rose,

And pressed on every side,
The Lord hath still sustained our steps,

And still hath been our Guide.
3 Perhaps, before the morning dawn,

He will restore our peace ;
For he who bade the tempest roar,

Can bid the tempest cease. 4 Here will we rest, here build our hopes,

Nor murmur at his rod;
He's

more to us than all the world,
Our Health, our Life, our God.

HYMN 449. L. M. [6]

Affliction cometh not forth of the Dust.
1 AFFLICTION's faded form draws nigh,

With wrinkled brow and tearful eye;
With sackcloth on her bosom spread,

And ashes scattered o'er her head. 2 But deem her not a child of earth;

From heaven she draws her sacred birth :
Beside the throne of God she stands

To execute his wise commands. 3 The messenger of grace,

she flies
To train us for our sphere, the skies;
And onward as we move, the way

Becomes more smooth, more bright the day. 4 Her weeds to robes of glory turn,

Her looks with kindling radiance burn,
And from her lips these accents steal,
God smites to bless, he wounds to heal.

HYMN 450. L. M. [6]

Death of the eminently virtuous. 1 Sweet is the scene where virtue dies,

When sinks a righteous soul to rest; How mildly beam the closing eyes !

How gently heaves the dying breast ! 2 So fades a summer cloud away ;

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day;

So dies a wave along the shore.

3 Triumphant smiles the victor's brow,

Fanned by some angel's purple wing ; O grave, where is thy victory now?

Invidious death, where is thy sting? 4 A holy quiet reigns around,

A calm which nothing can destroy ; Naught can disturb that peace profound,

Which such unfettered souls enjoy. 5 Farewell

, conflicting joys and fears, Where light and shade alternate dwell ! A brighter, purer scene appears ;

Farewell, inconstant world, farewell! 6 Its duty done, as sinks the clay,

Light from its load, the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say,

Sweet is the scene where virtue dies !

HYMN 451. C. M. [6]

Death of a Child.
1 Life is a span, a fleeting hour ;

How soon the vapour flies !
Man is a tender, transient flower,

That in the blooming dies. 2 The once-loved form, now cold and dead,

Each mournful thought employs,
And nature weeps her comforts fled,

And withered all her joys.
3 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,

When what we now deplore
Shall rise in full immortal prime,

And bloom to fade no more.

[graphic]

4 Then cease,

fond nature, dry thy tears; Religion points on high ; There everlasting spring appears,

And joys that never die.

HYMN 452. L. M. [6]

Death of an Infant. 1 As the sweet flower, which scents the morn,

But withers in the rising day,
Thus lovely seemed the infant's dawn,

Thus swiftly fled its life away.
2 Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,

Death timely came with friendly care, The opening bud to heaven conveyed,

And bade it bloom forever there. 3 It died before the infant soul

Had ever burned with wrong desire, Had ever spurned at heaven's control,

Or ever quenched its sacred fire. 4 It died to sin, to wo and care ;

Yet for a moment felt the rod ; Then, springing on the viewless air,

Spread its light wings, and soared to God.

HYMN 453. C. M. [b ]

Death of a young Person.
1 When blooming youth is snatched away

By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay
Which sorrow must demand.

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