158

3 Far from this world of toil and strife,
They 're present with the Lord;

The labors of their mortal life

End in a large reward.

The Righteous Blessed in Death.

1 How 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 dwell! How bright the unchanging morn appears! Farewell, 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 blessed the righteous when he dies!"

159

8 & 7s M.

METHODIST COL.

160

The Dying Christian.

1 HAPPY Soul, thy days are ended,
All thy mourning days below;
Go, by angel guards attended,
To the sight of Jesus go.
Waiting to receive thy spirit,

Lo! the Saviour stands above;
Shows the purchase of his merit,
Reaches out the crown of love.

2 Struggle through thy latest passion
To thy great Redeemer's breast;
To his uttermost salvation,

To his everlasting rest.

For the joy he sets before thee,

Bear a momentary pain;

Die, to live a life of glory;

Suffer, with thy Lord to reign.

L. M.

S. WESLEY.

The Young cut off in their Prime.

1 THE morning flowers display their sweets,
And gay their silken leaves unfold,

As careless of the noontide heats

As fearless of the evening cold.

2 Nipped by the wind's untimely blast,
Parched by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,

The short-lived beauties die away.

3 So blooms the human face divine,

When youth its pride of beauty shows;
Fairer than spring the colors shine,
And sweeter than the virgin rose.

4 Or worn by slowly-rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,

The short-lived beauties die away.

5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine,
Revive with ever-during bloom,

Safe from diseases and decline.

6 Let sickness blast, let death devour,
If heaven must recompense our pains :
Perish the grass, and fade the flower,
If firm the word of God remains.

And thy saintly soul is flown

Where tears are wiped from every eye,

And sorrow is unknown,

From the burden of the flesh,

And from care and fear released,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

2 Sin can never taint thee now,
Nor doubt thy faith assail,

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ
And the Holy Spirit fail:

And there thou 'rt sure to meet the good,
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

3 "Earth to earth," and "dust to dust,"
The solemn priest hath said;
So we lay the turf above thee now,
And we seal thy narrow bed:
But thy spirit, brother, soars away
Among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

162

P. M.

BISHOP HEBER.

Funeral Hymn.

1 THOU art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore

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 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 mansions forsaking,

Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered long; But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,

And the song that thou heardst was the seraphim’s song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave, but 't were wrong to deplore thee,

He

When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide;

gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore

thee,

Where death has no sting, since the Saviour has

died.