3 O! if my threatening sins were gone,
And death had lost his sting,
I could invite the angel on,
And chide his lazy wing.
6 Away these interposing days,
And let the lovers meet;
The angel has a cold embrace,
But kind, and soft, and sweet.
7 I'd leap at once my seventy years,
I'd rush into his arms,
And lose my breath, and all my cares,
Amid those heavenly charms.
8 Joyful I'd lay this body down,
And leave this lifeless clay,
Without a sigh, without a groan,
And stretch and soar away.
CCCCVII. C. M. Canterbury Tune. Steele.
At the Funeral of a young Person.
W By death's resistless hand,
HEN blooming youth is snatch'd away
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,
Which pity must demand.
2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,
O may this truth, imprest
With awful power,-I too must die,-
Sink deep in every breast.
3 Let this vain world engage no more;
Behold the gaping tomb!
It bids us seize the present hour,
To-morrow death may come.
4 The voice of this alarming scene
May every heart obey;
Nor be the heavenly warning vain,
Which calls to watch and pray.
5 O may we fly, to Jesus fly!
Whose powerful arm can save:
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,
And triumph o'er the grave.
6 Great God, thy sov'reign grace impart,
With cleansing healing power;
This only can prepare the heart
For death's surprising hour.
CCCCVIII. S. M. Toplady's Col.
Preparation for Death. Matt. xxiv. 44.
REPARE me, gracious God,
-To stand before thy face;
Thy Spirit must the work perform,
For it is all of grace.
2 In Christ's obedience clothe,
And wash me in his blood:
So shall I lift my head with joy,
Among the sons of God.
3 Do thou my sins subdue,
Thy sovereign love make known;
The spirit of my mind renew,
And save me in thy Son.
4 Let me attest thy power,
Let me thy goodness prove,
'Till my full' soul can hold no more
Of everlasting love.
CCCCIX. C. M. Doddridge.
Death and Judgment appointed to all.
EAVEN has confirm'd the great decree,
That Adam's race must die:
One general ruin sweeps them down,
And low in dust they lie.
2 Ye living men the tomb survey,
Where you must quickly dwell;
Hark how the awful summons sounds
In every funeral knell !
3 Once you must die, and once for all
The solemn purport weigh;
For know, that heaven or hell attend
On that important day.
4 Those eyes, so long in darkness veil'd,
Must wake, the Judge to see,
And every word and every thought
Must pass his scrutiny.
5 O may I in the Judge behold
My Saviour and my friend;
And, far beyond the reach of death,
With all his saints ascend.
CCCCX. L. M. Swain.
Encouragement against the Fear of Death.
WHEN swelling Jordan o'er us rolls
Should Christ his lovely presence hide, Will it not overwhelm our souls.
Before we reach the Canaan-side? Who knows how deep the flood may be, When we our awful summons hear; Or what dark prospects we may see,
When his black banners death shall rear.
3 Well, should the tyrant death display His fiercest form when we pass o'er, Our skilful guide knows all the way,
From Jordan's brink to Canaan's shore. 4 Yes, the Redeemer once was dead!
And, when he pass'd the gloomy grave,
Death's blackest waves roll'd o'er his head,
That we might know his power to save.
5 Jesus has conquer'd death for us,
When his dark mansions he pass'd thro';
He to a blessing turn'd the curse,
And we shall triumph o'er him too..
CCCCXI. L. M. Balt. Col.
The Tolling Bell.
1 FT as the bell, with solemn toll,
Speaks the departure of a soul,
Let each one ask himself." am I
Prepar'd, should I be call'd to die?"
2 Only this frail and fleeting breath
Preserves me from the jaws of death;
Soon as it fails, at once I'm gone,
And plung'd into a world unknown.
3 Then leaving all I lov'd below,
To God's tribunal I must go;
Must hear the judge pronounce my fate,
And fix my everlasting state.
4 But could bear to hear him say,
"Depart, accursed, far away!
With Satan, in the lowest hell,
Thou art for ever doom'd to dwell."
5 Lord Jesus! help me now to flee,
And seek my hope alone in thee;
Apply thy blood, thy spirit give,
Subdue my sin, and let me live.
6 Then when the solemn bell I hear,
Secure from wrath, I need not fear;
Nor would the thought distressing be,
Perhaps it next may toll for me.
7 Rather my spirit would rejoice,
And long and wish to hear thy voice:
Glad when it bids me earth resign,
Secure of heav'n if thou art mine.
Christ's presence makes death easy.
HY should we start and fear to die?
W What tim'rous worms we mortals are,
Death is the gate of endless joy,
And yet we dread to enter there.
2 The pains, the groans, and dying strife,
Fright our approaching souls away:
Still we shrink back again to life,
Fond of our prison and our clay.
3 O! if my Lord would come and meet
My soul should stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she pass'd.
4 Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breath my life out sweetly there.
CCCCXIII. C. M. Watts.
Moses dying in the embraces of God.
EATH cannot make our souls afraid
If God be with us there;
We may walk through its darkest shade,
And never yield to fear.
2 I could renounce my all below,
If my Creator bid;
And run, if I were call'd to go,
And die as Moses did.
3 Might I but climb to Pisgah's top,
And view the promis'd land,
My flesh itself would long to drop,
And pray for the command.
4 Clasp'd in my heav'nly Father's arms,'
I would forget my breath,
And lose my life among the charms
Of so divine a death.
RESURRECTION.
CCCCXIV. C. M. Rippon's Selec. The Bodies of the Saints quickened and raised by the Spirit. Rom. viii. 11.
WHY should our murmuring thoughts delight
To grovel in the dust?
Or why should streams of tears unite
Around the expiring just ?
2 Did not the Lord our Saviour die, And triumph o'er the grave?
Did not our Lord ascend on high,
And prove his power to save?
3 Doth not the sacred Spirit come,
And dwell in all the saints?
And should the temples of his grace
Resound with long complaints?
4 Awake, my soul, and like the sun
Burst through each sable cloud;
And thou, my voice, tho' broke with sighs,
Tune forth thy songs aloud.
5 The Spirit rais'd my Saviour up,
When he had bled for me;
And, spite of death and hell, shall raise
Thy pious friends and thee.
6 Awake, ye saints, that dwell in dust,
Your hymns of vict❜ry sing
And let his dying servants trust
Their ever living King.
CCCCXV. C. M. Watts's Lyric Poems.
A Prospect of the Resurrection.
H And triumph o'er the just;
OW long shall death the tyrant reign,
While the rich blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled in the dust?
2 Lo, I behold the scatter'd shades,
The dawn of heaven appears;
The sweet immortal morning spreads
Its blushes round the spheres.
3 I see the Lord of glory come,
And flaming guards around;
The skies divide to make him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.
4 I hear the voice," Ye dead arise!"
And lo the graves obey:
And waking saints with joyful eyes
Salute th' expected day.
5 They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to thee midway-air,
In shining garments meet their King,
And low adore him there.
60 may our humble spirits stand
Among them cloth'd in white!
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight.
7 How will our joy and wonder rise,
When our returning King
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