Thither may we repair,
That glorious bliss to share!
We shall see the welcome day,
We shall to the summons bow:
Come, Redeemer, come away,

Now prepare, and take us now!

1749.

ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS BEARD, WHO WAS IMPREST FOR A SOLDIER, AND DIED IN THE HOSPITAL AT NEWCASTLE.

SOLDIER of Christ, adieu!

Thy conflicts here are past;
Thy Lord hath brought thee through,
And given the crown at last.

Rejoice to wear the glorious prize,
Rejoice with God in Paradise.

There all thy sufferings cease,
There all thy griefs are o'er:

The prisoner is at peace,

The mourner weeps no more.
From man's oppressive tyranny
Thou livest, thou livest forever free.

Torn from thy friends below

In banishment severe,

A man of strife and woe,

No more thou wanderest here;

Joined to thy better friends above,
At rest in thy Redeemer's Love.

No longer now constrained
With human fiends to dwell,
To see their evil pained,

Their blasphemies to feel; Angels and saints thy comrades are, And all adore the Saviour there.

Thou canst not there bemoan Thy friends' or country's loss, Through sore oppression groan, Or faint beneath the cross. The joy hath swallowed up the pain, And death is thy eternal gain.

What hath their malice done
Who hurried hence thy soul?
When half thy race was run

They pushed thee to the goal,
Sent to the souls supremely blest,
And drove thee to thy earlier rest.

Thou out of great distress

To thy reward art past,
Triumphant happiness

And joys that always last.

Thanks be to God, who set thee free,

And gave the final victory

Thy victory we share,

Thy glorious joy we feel.
Parted in flesh we are,

But joined in spirit still;
And still we on our brethren call
To praise the common Lord of all.

Not for your needless aid,
Not for your useless prayers,
(Jesus for us hath prayed,

And all our burthens bears)
Yet still on you we call, and cry,
Extol the Lord of earth and sky.

Thus let us still maintain

Our fellowship divine,

And till we meet again

In Jesu's praises join:

Thus, till we all your raptures know,
Sing you above, and we below!

1749.

ON THE DEATH OF MR. JOHN HUTCHINSON, JULY 23, 1754.

GLORY and thanks and praise
To Him who reigns above,

The God of unexampled grace,
Of unexhausted Love:

Whose Spirit, often grieved, Hath all long-suffering shown, And now to Paradise received His poor rebellious son.

His son (and mine) is fled
Beyond the reach of sin;
The everlasting doors displayed
Admit the wanderer in.
Shout, all ye heavenly choir,
The doubtful conflict past;
My son is scarcely saved by fire,
But he is saved at last.

'Scaped from a life of pain,
Disburthened of his load,

The struggling soul hath burst its chain.
Of peevish flesh and blood:

Safe to the haven brought,

Where storms can never come,

And every folly, every fault,

Is buried in his tomb.

The pain, whose lingering strife
And frequent impulse tore
The wasted seats of irksome life,
Shall never vex him more.
Nor love's severe excess,
Nor anger's furious start,
Can his indignant spirit oppress,
Or rend his frantic heart.

The tyrannizing power Of his own wayward will, The buffetings of sin are o'er, The stubborn pulse is still. Jesus hath heard our prayer, And caught him to His breast, And lulled the self-tormentor there To everlasting rest.

Omnipotent to save,

Thou didst Thine arm reveal,
And on the margin of the grave
All his backslidings heal.
Thou didst Thy Blood impart
To sign his soul's release,
And whisper love into his heart,
And bid him die in peace.

Our hearts with hopes and fears, Dying, he chills and warms, The sad desponding sinner cheers, The confident alarms.

Left to the tempter's power, He cries to all," Beware," But pardoned at his latest hour, Prohibits our despair.

Instructed from above,

Let us the warning take, Nor ever, Lord, abuse Thy Love, Or Thee or Thine forsake.