That holy book shall guide our youth,
And well support our age.

136

AFFLICTIONS AND DEATH.

HYMN. 8's and 7's.

Mourners comforted.

1 CEASE, ye mourners, cease to languish,
O'er the grave of those you love;
Pain, and death, and night, and anguish,
Enter not the world above.

2 While our silent steps are straying,

Lonely, through night's deep'ning shade, Glory's brightest beams are playing Round th' immortal spirit's head. 3 Light and peace at once deriving From the hand of God most high, In his glorious presence living, They shall never-never die. 4 Endless pleasure, pain excluding,

Sickness there, no more can come;
There no fear of wo, intruding,

Sheds o'er heav'n a moment's gloom.
5 Now, ye mourners, cease to languish
O'er the grave of those you love;
Far remov'd from pain and anguish,
They are chanting hymns above.

1 HOW bless'd the righteous when he dies!
When sinks a weary soul to rest,
How mildly beam the closing eyes,
How gently heaves th' 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 unfetter'd soul enjoys.

4 Farewell, conflicting hopes and fears,
Where lights and shades alternate dwell;
How bright th' unchanging morn appears,
Farewell, inconstant world, farewell.

1 HEAR what the voice from heav'n proclaims, For all the pious dead;

Sweet is the savour of their names,

And soft their sleeping beds.

2 They die in Jesus, and are bless'd;
How kind their slumbers are!
From suff'rings, and from sins releas'd,
And freed from ev'ry snare.

3 Far from this world of toil and strife,
They're present with the Lord;
The labours of their mortal life
End in a large reward.

1 THAT once lov'd form now cold and dead, Each mournful thought employs;

And nature weeps, her comforts fled,
And wither'd all her joys.

2 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time;
When what we now deplore,
Shall rise in full immortal prime,
And bloom to fade no more.

3 Then cease, fond nature, cease thy tears,
Religion points on high;
There everlasting spring appears,
And joys that cannot die.

HYMN. C. M.

140 Prayer for Support in Death.

1 WHEN, bending o'er the brink of life,
My trembling soul shall stand,
And wait to pass death's awful flood,
Great God, at thy command;—

2 Thou Source of life and joy supreme,
Whose arm alone can save,
Dispel the darkness that surrounds
The entrance to the grave!

3 Lay thy supporting, gentle hand.
Beneath my sinking head,
And let a beam of life divine
Illume my dying bed.

1 THE grave is now a favour'd spot-
To saints who sleep, in Jesus bless'd;
For there the wicked trouble not,

And there the weary are at rest. 2 At rest in Jesus' faithful arms; At rest as in a peaceful bed: Secure from all the dreadful storms, Which round this sinful world are spread. 3 Thrice happy souls, who're gone before To that inheritance divine!

They labour, sorrow, sigh no more,
But bright in endless glory shine.
4 Then let our mournful tears be dry,
Or in a gentle measure flow;
We hail them happy in the sky,
And joyful wait our call to go.

1 HOW blest is our brother, bereft
Of all that could burden his mind;
How easy the soul that has left

This wearisome body behind!
Of evil incapable thou,
Whose relics with envy
No longer in misery now,

I see,

No longer a sinner like me.

2 This earth is affected no more

With sickness, or shaken with pain;

The war in the members is o'er,
And never shall vex him again:

No anger henceforward, or shame,
Shall redden his innocent clay;
Extinct is the animal flame,

And passion is vanish'd away.
3 The lids he so seldom could close,
By sorrow forbidden to sleep,
Seal'd up in eternal repose,

Have strangely forgotten to weep; These fountains can yield no suppliesThese hollows from water are free; The tears are all wip'd from these eyes, And evil they never shall see.

4 To mourn and to suffer is mine, While bound in a prison I breathe, And still for deliverance pine,

And press to the issues of death. What now with my tears I bedew, Oh, shall I not shortly become! My spirit created anew,

Ere I am consign'd to the tomb!

1 'TIS finish'd! the conflict is past, The heav'n-born spirit is fled; Her wish is accomplish'd at last,

And now she's entomb'd with the dead. The months of affliction are o'er,

The days and the nights of distress; We see her in anguish no more— She's gained her happy release. 2. No sickness, or sorrow, or pain, Shall ever disquiet her now; For death to her spirit was gain, Since Christ was her life when below, Her soul has now taken its flight To mansions of glory above, To mingle with angels of light, And dwell in the kingdom of love.

3 The victory now is obtain'd;

She's gone her dear Saviour to see;

Her wishes she fully has gain'd—
She's now where she longed to be.
Then let us forbear to complain,

That she has now gone from our sight; We soon shall behold her again,

With new and redoubled delight.

1. WHEN blooming youth is snatch'd away
By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,
Which pity must demand.

2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,
Oh, may this truth, imprest
With awful pow'r-"I too must die"-
Sink deep in ev'ry breast.

3 The voice of this alarming scene
May ev'ry heart obey;

Nor be the heav'nly warning vain,
Which calls to watch and pray.

4 Oh, let us fly, to Jesus fly,

Whose pow'rful arm can save;
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,
And triumph o'er the grave.

145

HYMN. C. M.

Death and Burial of Christians.

1 WHY do we mourn departing 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,
To heav'n's desired abode?—

Why should we wish the hours more slow,
Which keep us from our God?

3 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
'Twas there the Saviour's body lay,
And left a long perfume..

4 The graves of all his saints he blest,
And soften'd every bed: