7 Ye heedless ones, that widely stroll, The grave will soon become your bed, Where silence reigns and vapors roll In solemn darkness round your head. 8 Your friends will pass the lonesom place. And with a sigh move slow along, Still gazing on the spires of grass, With which your graves are over grown. 9 Your souls will land in darker realms, Where vengeance reigns, and billow roar, And roll amid the burning flames, When thousand, thousand years ar o'er. 10 Still sunk in shades of endless night To groan and gasp in ceaseless pain, And never more behold the light, nd never, never rise again. 11 Ye blooming youth this is the state Of all who do free grace refuse; And soon with you 'twill be too late," The way of life in Christ to choose. 12 Come lay your carnal weapons by, No longer fight against your God, But with the Gospel now comply, And heaven shall be your great reward. HYMN 114.-C. M. Christ the Believer's Song. HOU dear Redeemer, dying Lamb, "No music's like thy charming name, 20 may we ever hear thy voice, And in our Priest will we rejoice, 3 Our Jesus shall be still our theme, 4 When we appear in yonder cloud, With all the favor'd throng; Then will we sing more sweet, more loud, T And Christ shall be our song. HYMN 115-C, M. A prospect of Heaven makes death easy. 2 There everlasting spring abides, 3 Sweet fields, beyond the __ swelling floods, Stand drest in living green; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, 4 But tim'rous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea, And linger, shiv'ring on the brink, 5 O could we make our doubts remove, Those gloomy doubts that rise-And see the Canan that we love, With unbeclouded eyes. 6 Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore. HYMN 116.-C. M. ARISE, my soul, to Pisgah's height, And view the promis'd land; And see by faith the glorious sight, Our heritage at hand. 2 A land where pure enjoyments dwell And blessings most divine; Where saints their highest notes shall swell, And in bright glory shine. 3 There endless springs of pleasure flow, 4 For Salem's dazzling gates are seen, 5 O could I cross rough Jordan's wave, 6 Tenrich my soul with fresh supplies, 7 Tho' death's cold waves compass me round, And heavy tempests roar; My little bark in saefty's found, 8 Should storms of grief and Borrow blow, |