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603 The righteous hath hope in his


death.-Prov. 14, 32.

W or shake at death's alarms?

WHY do we mourn departing friends,

Tis but the voice that Jesus sends
To call them to His arms.

2 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.

3 The graves of all His saints He blest,
And softened every bed:

Where should the dying members rest,
But with their dying Head?

Thence He arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our flesh 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.


604 Give ear unto my cry, hold not

Thy peace at my tears.-Ps. 39, 12.

1LOWLY and solemn be

Thy children's cry to Thee,
Father divine!

A hymn of suppliant breath,
Owning that life and death
Alike are Thine.

2 O Father, in that hour,

When earth all succouring power
Shall disavow;

When spear, and shield, and crown,
In faintness are cast down;

Sustain us, Thou.

3 By Him who bowed to take
The death-cup for our sake,
The thorn, the rod;
From whom the last dismay
Was not to pass away:
Aid us, O God.

4 Tremblers beside the grave,
We call on Thee to save,
Father divine!

Hear, hear our suppliant breath,
Keep us in life and death,
Thine, only Thine.


6050 grave, where is thy victory?—



1 Cor. 15, 55.

VITAL spark of heavenly flame: Quit, O quit this mortal frame! Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, O the pain, the bliss of dying!

Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away!

What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses-shuts my sight-
Drowns my spirit-draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
3 The world recedes; it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave, where is thy victory?
O Death, where is thy sting?


606 Let me die the death of the right

1 Ho

eous.-Num. 23, 10.

OW blest the righteous when he dies!

When sinks a weary soul to rest,

How mildly beam the closing eyes:
How gently heaves the expiring breast!

2 So fades a summer cloud away;

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day.;
So dies a wave along the shore.

3 A holy quiet reigns around,

A calm which life nor death destroys:
Nothing disturbs that peace profound
Which his unfettered soul enjoys.


4 Farewell, conflicting hopes and fears, Where lights and shades alternate [pears! How bright the unchanging morn apFarewell, inconstant world, farewell! 5 Life's duty done, as sinks the clay, Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say, How blest the righteous when he dies!

Isa. 57, 2.


607 He shall enter into peace.— HOW softly on the western hills,

The sunset light is shed!

So Christ the Lord sheds forth His peace,

Around the dying bed.

2 How quietly the glowing sky
Melts into deeper gloom;

So calm the Christian fades away
Into his Saviour's tomb.

The sun is gone, but round the heavens
The crimson hues are cast;

So sweet the memory left behind, When good men breathe their last.

4 And now, above the dews of night, The vesper star appears;

Thus faith lights up the mourner's heart,

Lights up the mourner's tears.

5 The darkness deepens; sure to bring The morning in the skies;

So all that sleep in Jesus now,
In glory shall arise.


608 He will swallow up death in vic


tory.-Isa. 25, 8.

BLESSING, honour, thanks, and praise,

Pay we, gracious God, to Thee;

Thou, in Thine abundant grace,
Givest us the victory;

Free and faithful to Thy word,
Thou hast glorified Thy Son,
Jesus Christ, our dying Lord,
Hath for us the conflict won.

2 Lo! the prisoner is releast,
Lightened of his earthly load;
Where the weary are at rest,
He is gathered in to God!
Lo! the pain of life is past,
All his warfare now is o'er,
Death and hell behind are cast,
Grief and suffering are no more.
3 Yes, the Christian's course is run,
Ended is the glorious strife;
Fought the fight, the work is done,
Death is swallowed up of life;
Borne by angels on their wings,
Far from earth the spirit flies,
Finds his God, and soars, and sings,
Triumphing in Paradise."

4 Join we, then, with one accord,
In the new, the joyful song;
Absent from our loving Lord
We shall not continue long;
We shall quit the house of clay,
We a better lot shall share,
We shall see the realms of day,
Meet our happy brother there.



609 It is sown in dishonour; it is


raised in glory.-1 Cor. 15, 43.

NVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb! Take this new treasure to thy trust, And give these sacred relics room Awhile, to slumber in the dust.

2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear, Invades thy bound; no mortal woes, Can reach the forms that slumber here, And angels watch their soft repose. 3 So Jesus slept: God's dying Son [bed: Passed through the grave, and blest the Rest here, dear saint, till from His [shade.


The morning break, and pierce the Break from His throne, illustrious


Attend, O earth! His sovereign word;
Restore thy trust, a glorious form:
Ile must ascend to meet his Lord.


610 Sorrow not, even as others which



have no hope.-1 Thess. 4, 13.
HOU art gone to the grave,
But we will not deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness
Encompass the tomb:
The Saviour has passed
Through its portal 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 path
Of the world by thy side;
But the wide arms of mercy
Are spread to enfold thee,
And sinners may hope,
Since the Sinless has died.

3 Thou art gone to the grave,
And, its mansion forsaking.
Perhaps thy weak spirit
In fear lingered long:

But the sunshine of Paradise

Beamed on thy waking,

And the sound which thou heard'st
Was the seraphim's song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave,
But 'twere wrong to deplore thee,
For God was thy ransom,


Thy guardian, and guide.
He gave thee, He took thee,
And He will restore thee;
And death has no sting,

Since the Saviour has died.


611 A good soldier of Jesus Christ.


2 Tim. 2, 3.

APTAIN and Saviour of the host
Of Christian chivalry;

We bless Thee for our comrade true,
Now summoned up to Thee.

2 We bless Thee for his every step
In faithful following Thee;

And for his good fight fought so well,
And crowned with victory.

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