4 O be a nobler portion mine!
My God, I bow before thy throne:
Earth's fleeting treasures I resign,
And fix my hope on thee alone.
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Our fathers; where are they?
swift the torrent rolls
That bears us to the sea;
The tide that hurries thoughtless souls
To vast eternity.
2 Our fathers, where are they,
With all they call'd their own! Their joys and griefs, and hopes and cares, And wealth and honour, gone.
3 God of our fathers, hear,
Thou everlasting Friend!
While we, as on life's utmost verge,
Our souls to thee commend.
4 Of all the pious dead
May we the footsteps trace,
Till with them, in the land of light,
We dwell before thy face.
The brink of fate.
O! on a narrow neck of land,
Twixt two unbounded seas, I stand,
Secure, insensible:
A point of time, a moment's space,
Removes me to that heavenly place,
Or shuts me up in hell.
2 O God, mine inmost soul convert,
And deeply on my thoughtful heart
Eternal things impress:
Give me to feel their solemn weight,
And tremble on the brink of fate,
And wake to righteousness.
3 Before me place, in dread array,
The pomp of that tremendous day,
When thou with clouds shalt come
To judge the nations at thy bar;
And tell me, Lord, shall I be there,
To meet a joyful doom!
4 Be this my one great business here-
With serious industry and fear
Eternal bliss to ensure;
Thine utmost counsel to fulfil,
And suffer all thy righteous will,
And to the end endure.
5 Then, Saviour, then my soul receive,
Transported from this vale, to live
And reign with thee above,
Where faith is sweetly lost in sight,
And hope in full, supreme delight,
And everlasting love.
TREMENDOUS God, with humble fear,
Prostrate before thy awful throne,
Thy word unchangeable we hear-
Thy sov'reign righteousness we own.
2 Tis fit we should to dust return,
Since such the will of God Most High;
In sin conceived, to trouble born,
Born to lament, and toil, and die.
3 Submissive to thy just decree,
We all shall soon from earth remove;
But when thou sendest, Lord, for me,
O let the messenger be love.
4 Whisper thy love into my heart;
Warn me of my approaching end;
And then I joyfully depart,
And then I to thy arins ascend.
A peaceful death expected, and prayed for.
SHRINKING from the cold hand of death,
DI soon shall gather up my feet;
Shall soon resign this fleeting breath,
And die,-my fathers' God to meet.
2 Number'd among thy people, I
Expect with joy thy face to see:
Because thou didst for sinners die,
Jesus, in death remember me!
80 that, without a ling'ring groan,
I may the welcome word receive;
My body with my charge lay down,
And cease at once to work and live.
4 Walk with me through the dreadful shade,
And, certified that thou art mine,
My spirit, calm and undismay'd,
I shall into thy hands resign.
5 No anxious doubt, no guilty gloom,
Shall damp whom Jesus' presence cheers:
My Light, my Life, my God is come,
And glory in his face appears.
I am going the way of all the earth.
a few swiftly fleeting years, And all that now in bodies live Shall quit, like me, the vale of tears, Their righteous sentence to receive.
2 But all, before they bence remove, May mansions for themselves prepare In that eternal house above;
And, O my God, shall I be there!
Solemn thoughts on the future.
ND am I born to die!
And must my trembling spirit fly
Into a world unknown
A land of deepest shade,
Unpierced by human thought;
The dreary regions of the dead,
Where all things are forgot!
2 Soon as from earth I go,
What will become of me!
Eternal happiness or wo
Must then my portion be:
Waked by the trumpet's sound,
I from my grave shall rise,
And see the Judge, with glory crown'd,
And see the flaming skies!
3 How shall I leave my tomb-
With triumph or regret!
A fearful or a joyful doom,
A curse or blessing, meet!
Will angel bands convey
Their brother to the bar!
Or devils drag my soul away,
To meet its sentence there!
4 Who can resolve the doubt
That tears my anxious breast!
Shall I be with the damn'd cast out,
Or number'd with the blest!
I must from God be driven,
Or with my Saviour dwell;
Must come at his command to heaven,
Or else-depart to hell!
TARK! from the tombs a doleful sound;
My ears, attend the cry:
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where you must shortly lie.
2 Princes, this clay must be your bed,
In spite of all your towers;
The tall, the wise, the reverend head,
Shall lie as low as ours.
3 Great God! is this our certain doom,
And are we still secure!
Sull walking downward to the tomb,
And yet prepared no more!
4 Grant us the power of quick'ning grace, To fit our souls to fly;
Then, when we drop this dying flesh,
We'll rise above the sky.
Christ's presence makes death easy.
WHY should we start, and fear to die!
What tim'rous worms we mortals are! Death is the gate to endless joy,
And yet we dread to enter there.
2 The pains, the groans, the dying strife,
Fright our approaching souls away;
And we shrink back again to life,
Fond of our prison and our clay.
8 O would my Lord his servant meet,
My soul would stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she pass'd.
4 Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.
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