Imatges de pàgina

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.

79. M. 655. ANONYMOUS

i Clay to clay, and dust to dust!

Let them mingle,- for they must!
Give to earth the earthly clod,

For the spirit 's fled to God.
2 Never more shall midnight's damp

Darken round this mortal lamp;
Never more shall noonday's glance
Search this mortal countenance.

3 Deep the pit, and cold the bed,

Where the spoils of death are laid;
Stiff the curtains, chill the gloom,

Of man's melancholy tomb.
4 Look aloft! The spirit 's risen ;-

Death cannot the soul imprison :
'Tis in heaven that spirits dwell,

Glorious, though invisible.
5 Thither let us turn our view;

Peace is there, and comfort too: There shall those we love be found, Tracing joy's eternal round.

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i Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb!

Take this new treasure to thy trust;
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust.

2 No pain, no grief, no anxious fear,

Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes
Can reach the peaceful sleepers here,

While angels watch their soft repose. 3 So Jesus slept ; God's dying Son

Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed Then rest, dear saint, till from his throne

The morning break, and pierce the shade. 4 Break, sacred morning, from the skies!

Then, clothed anew in bright array,
Immortal form ! to life arise,
And swell the song of endless day.

10s. M.



Death of a Minister in his Prime.

i Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,

In full activity of zeal and power;
A Christian cannot die before his time,
The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour.

2 Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease;

Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest-task is done: Come from the heat of battle, and in peace, Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.

3 Go to the grave, for there thy Saviour lay

In death's embraces, ere he rose on high;
And all the ransomed, by that narrow way,
Pass to eternal life beyond the sky,

4 Go to the grave:

no, take thy seat above; Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord, Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love, And open

vision for the written word.

78. M.

PoPE. .
The Dying Christian to his Soul.
1 Vital spark of heavenly flame,

Quit, О 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.

2 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?

P. M.



Funeral Hymn.

i Brother, thou art gone before us,

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.

Brother, yes, thy course is finished ;

Thou hast borne earth's heavy load, But Christ has taught thy languid feet

To reach his blest abode : Sweetly art thou sleeping now,

On thy Father's faithful breast, Where the wicked cease from troubling

And the weary are at rest.

Sin no more can taint thy spirit,

Nor can doubt thy faith assail;
Thy soul its welcome has received,

Thy strength shall never fail :
And 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.

4 To thy grave we sadly bear thee,

There in dust we place thy head, We lay the turf above thee now,

And seal thy narrow bed ;

But thy spirit soars away,

Free, among the faithful blest, Where the wicked cease from troubling

And the weary are at rest.


S. M. 660.

MONTGOMERY. On the Death of an Aged Minister. SERVANT of God, well done!

Rest from thy loved employ ; The battle fought, the victory won,

Enter thy Master's joy.

The voice at midnight came,

He started up to hear;
A mortal arrow pierced his frame, –

He fell, but felt no fear.

3 Tranquil amidst alarms,

It found him on the field,
A veteran slumbering on his arms,

Beneath his red-cross shield.


The pains of death are past;

Labor and sorrow cease; And, life's long warfare closed at last,

His soul is found in peace.


Soldier of Christ, well done!

Praise be thy new employ; And while eternal ages run,

Rest in thy Saviour's joy.

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