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 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.
HYMN 440. C. M. [b]
Comfort under Bereavements.
1 WHY do we mourn departed 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 Thence he arose, ascended high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our souls shall fly
At the great rising day.
5 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye saints, ascend the skies.
HYMN 441. L. P. M. [b]
On the Death of Friends.
1 O, GOD of my salvation, hear
My nightly groans, my daily prayer,
That still employ my wasting breath :
My soul, declining to the grave,
Implores thy sovereign power to save
From dark despair and gloomy death.
2 Thy hand lies heavy on my soul,
And waves of sorrow o'er me roll,
While dust and silence spread the gloom:
My friends beloved, in happier days,
The dear companions of my ways,
Descend around me to the tomb.
3 As lost in lonely grief I tread
The silent mansions of the dead,
Or to some thronged assembly go;
Through all alike I rove alone,
Forgotten here, and there unknown,
The change renews my piercing wo.
4 My friends are gone, my comforts fled,
The sad remembrance of the dead
Recalls my wandering thoughts to mourn ;
But, through each melancholy day,
I call on thee, and still will pray,
Imploring still thy kind return.
HYMN 442. C. M. [b or #]
Human Frailty and divine Support.
1 LET others boast how strong they be,
Nor death nor danger fear;
But we'll confess, O Lord, to thee,
What feeble things we are.
2 Fresh as the grass our bodies stand,
And flourish bright and gay,-
A blasting wind sweeps o'er the land,
And fades the grass away.
3 Our life contains a thousand springs,
And dies if one be gone;
Strange, that a harp of thousand strings
Should keep in tune so long!
4 But 'tis our God supports our frame,
The God that built us first;
Salvation to Jehovah's name
That reared us from the dust.
5 While we have breath, or use our tongues, Our Maker we'll adore :
His spirit moves our heaving lungs,
Or they would breathe no more,
HYMN 443. S. M. [b or #]
Comfort in Sickness and Death.
1 WHEN sickness shakes the frame, Each dazzling pleasure flies;
Phantoms of bliss no more obscure
Our long-deluded eyes.
2 Their charms deceive no more,
When death his sceptre shows,
And nature faints beneath the weight
Of complicated woes.
3 The trembling frame of life
Shall crumble into dust;
Nature shall faint; but learn, each soul,
On nature's God to trust.
4 The man whose heart is fixed
On his all-gracious God,
In every frown may comfort find,
And kiss the chastening rod.
5 Nor him shall death alarm;
On heaven his soul relies,
With joy he views his Maker's love,
And with composure dies.
HYMN 444. L. M. [b]
Blessed are they that mourn. 1 DEEM not that they are blest alone, Whose days a peaceful tenor keep; The God, who loves our race, has shown A blessing for the eyes that weep. 2 The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears,
And weary hours of wo and pain
Are earnests of serener years.
3 O there are days of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night;
Grief may abide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light:
4 For God hath marked each anguished day,
And numbered every secret tear;
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.
HYMN 445. H. M. [bor #]
Sorrow and Consolation.
1 How transient and how vain
Is all this world bestows!
How fleet, how full of pain,
And void of sweet repose!
All earthly joys are unrefined,
Nor give contentment to the mind.
2 But heavenly things are pure,
More lasting and more sweet,
Forever will endure,
With comforts more replete.
Should worlds be wrapped in blazing fire,*
The love of God would not expire.
3 Believers have a hope
Which overcomes their fear ;
Which bears their courage up,
When death approaches near :
Each
says, O come, my angel, come,
Bear me to my eternal hone.
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