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Shall rise in full immortal prime

And bloom to fade no more. 5 Then cease, fond nature! cease thy tears

Religion points on high:
There everlasting spring, appears,
And joys that cannot die.

C. M. 715. At the Funeral of a young Person. ! WHEN blooming youth is snatch'd awam

By death's resistless hand,
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.
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.
Oh, let us 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 sovereign grace impart,

With cleansing, healing power;
This only can prepare the heart
For death's surprising hour.


P. M.

The dying Christian. 1" SPIRIT---leave thine house of clay!

Lingering dust-resign thy breatin!

Spirit-cast thy chains away!
Dust-be thou dissolv'd in death!”
Thus th’ Almighty Saviour speaks,
While the faithful Christian dies!
Thus—the bonds of life he breaks,
And the ransom'd captive flies!
“ Prisoner-long detain'd below!
Prisoner-now with freedom blest!
Welcome-from a world of wo!
Welcome-to a land of rest!”
Thus the choir of angels sing,
As they bear the soul on high!
While with hallelujahs ring

All the region of the sky!
& Grave-the guardian of our dust!

Grave—the treasury of the skies!
Every atom of thy trust,
Rests in hope again to rise!
Hark! the judgment-trumpet calls!
“Soul-rebuild thy house of clay-
Immortality thy walls,
And Eternity thy day!"-



L. M.
FROM his low bed of mortal dust,

Escap'd the prison of his clay,
The new inhabitant of bliss

To heav'n directs his wond’rous way.
Ye fields, that witness'd once his tears,

Ye winds, that wafted oft his sighs,
Ye mountains, where he breath'd his pray’rs,

When sorrow's shadows veil'd his eyes; 9 No more the weary pilgrim mourns,

No more affliction wrings his heart; Th' unfetter'd soul to God returns

For ever he and anguish part! Receive, O earth, his faded form, In thy cold bosom let it lie;


Safe let it rest from ev'ry storin-
Soou must it rise, no more to dic!

C. M. The Death and Burial of a Saint. 1 WHY do we mourn departing friends!

Or shake at death's alarms? Tis but the voice that Jesus sends

To call them to his arms. 2 Are we not tending upward too

As fast as time can move? Nor would we wish the hours more slow,

To keep us from our love. 3 Why should we tremble to convey

Their bodies to the tomb? There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,

And left a long perfume. 4 The graves of all his saints he bless'd,

And soften'd every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,

But with the dying Head?
5 Thence he arose, ascending high,

And show'd our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly

At the great rising-day.
6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,

And bid our kindred rise,
Awake, ye nations under ground,

Ye saints, ascend the skies. 719.

C. M.
IN vain my fancy strives to paint

The moment after death;
The glories that surround a saint,

When yielding up his breath.
2 One gentle sigh his fetters breaks,
We scarce can say, “ He's gone!"


Before the willing spirit takes

Its mansions near the throne.
3 Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,

To trace the spirit's fiig!lt;
No eye can pierce within the veil

Which hides the world of light.
4 Thus much (and this is all) we know,

Saints are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and wo,

And with their Saviour rest.
5 On harps of gold they praise his name,

Ifis face they always view, "Then let us foll’wers be of them,

That we may praise him too.

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(490.) P. M. THEN life's tempestuous storms are o'er

How calm he meets the friendly shore, Who liv'd averse from sin! Such peace on virtue's path attends, That, where the sinner's pleasure ends,

The Christian's joys begin.
2 See smiling patience smooth his brow!
See bending angels downwards bow,

To lift his soul on high!
While, eager for the blest abode,
He joins with them to praise the God,

Who taught him how to die.
Y No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes;
No horror wrests the struggling sighs,

As from the sinner's breast:
His God, the God of peace and love,
Pours kindly solace from above,

And heals his soul with rest.
Ugrant, my Saviour, and my friend!

So calm my tv'ning close;
While, loos’d from ev'ry earthly tie,
With steady confidence I fly
To thee from whom I rose!

C. M. 721. Death and immediate Glory. 2 Cor. iv. 8. 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.
% Shortly this prison of my clay

Must be dissolv'd and fall, Then, O my soul, with joy obey

Thy heavenly Father's call. 3 'Tis he, by his almighty grace,

That forms thee fit for heaven, And as an earnest of the place,

Has his own Spirit given. # 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.
s 'Tis pleasant to believe thy grace,

But we had rather see;
We would be absent from the flesh;

And present, Lord, with thee. 722.

(491.) C. M. Blessed are they that die in the Lord HARK! from on high a solemn voice; "I will make each pious heart rejoice,

And vanquish ev'ry fear. 2 « Thrice blessed are the pious dead;

Who in the Lord shall die; Their weary flesh, as on a bed, Safe in the grave shall lie.

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