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C. M.

647.

PEABODY

The Christian's Death.

1 Behold the beauteous western light;

It melts in deepening gloom : So calmly Christians sink away,

Descending to the tomb.

2 The winds breathe low, the withering leaf

Scarce whispers from the tree; So gently flows the parting breath,

When good men cease to be.

3 How beautiful on all the hills

The crimson light is shed ! 'T is like the peace the Christian gives

To mourners round his bed.

4 How mildly on the wandering cloud

The sunset beam is cast! 'T is like the memory, left behind,

When loved ones breathe their last.

5 And now, above the dews of night,

The yellow star appears :
So faith springs in the heart of those

Whose eyes are bathed in tears.

6 But soon the morning's happier light

Its glories shall restore,
And eyelids that are sealed in death
Shall
ope,

to close no more.

L. M.

648.

Watts.

Death disarmed.

1 Why should we start, and fear to die?

What tirnorous 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 iny Lord would come and meet,

My soul would stretch her wings in haste, Fly, fearless, through death's iron gate, Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

4 Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.

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1 NAKED, as from the earth we came,

And crept to life at first,
We to the earth return again,

And mingle with our dust.

2 The dear delights we here enjoy,

And fondly call our own,
Are but short favors borrowed now,

To be repaid anon.

3 ’T is God who lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the

grave;
He gives, and, blessed be his name,

He takes but what he gave.

4 Peace, all our angry passions, then;

Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sovereign will,

And every murmur die.

5 If smiling mercy crown our lives,

Its praises shall be spread;
And we'll adore the justice, too,

That strikes our comforts dead.

12 & 11s. M. 650. HEBER.

Farewell to a Friend departed. 1 Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not de

plore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the

tomb; The Saviour has passed through its portals before

thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through

the gloom.

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

thee, Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy

side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold

thee, And sinners may hope, since the Saviour hath

died.

3 Thou arť gone to the grave; and, its mansion

forsaking, Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lingered

long; But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy

waking, And the sound thou didst hear was the sera

phim's song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not

deplore thee, Since God was thy Refuge, thy Guardian, thy

Guide; He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore

thee; And death has no sting, since the Saviour hath

died.

8 & 78. M.

651.

S. F. SMITH.

The Death of a Sister.

i Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,

Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening,
When it floats

among

the trees.

2 Peaceful be thy silent slumber,

Peaceful in the grave so low;
Thou no more wilt join our number,

Thou no more our songs shalt know.

3 Dearest sister, thou hast left us;

Here thy loss we deeply feel ;
But 't is God that hath bereft us :

He can all our sorrows heal.

A Yet again we hope to meet thee,

When the day of life is fled,
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,

Where no farewell tear is shed.

L. M.

652.

FAWCETT.

Death of Parents.

1 The God of mercy will indulge

The flowing tear, the heaving sigh,
When honored parents fall around,
When friends beloved and kindred die.

2 Yet not one anxious, murmuring thought

Should with our mourning passions blend;
Nor should our bleeding hearts forget
Their mighty, ever-living Friend.

3 Parent, Protector, Guardian, Guide,

Thou art each tender name in one;
On thee we cast our every care,
And comfort seek from thee alone.

4 To thee, our Father, would we look,

Our Rock, our Portion, and our Friend,
And on thy gracious love and truth
With humble, steadfast hope depend.

L. M.
653.

GASKELL.
The Light of the Gospel on the Tomb.
1 Dark, dark indeed, the grave would be,

Had we no light, O God, from thee;
If all we saw were all we knew,
Or hope from reason only grew.

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