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2 No terror has death, or the grave,
To those who believe in the Lord
And lean on the faith of his word :
We give unto dust, in our gloom,
Which hangs like a lamp in the tomb. 3 0 Lord God Almighty! to thee
We turn, as our solace above;
But never thy fountains of love:
And sing, with one heart and accord,
And praised be the name of the Lord.
To cheer my dying hours, -
And all his frightful powers.
My quiv'ring lips should sing,
And where, O Death, thy sting!
Death has no sting beside :
But Christ, my ransom, died.
Immortal thanks be paid,
Through Christ, our living Head.
When all is peaceful and serene,
Sheds mellow lustre o'er the scene! 2 Such is the Christian's parting hour;
So peacefully he sinks to rest;
Sustains and cheers his languid breast. 3 Mark but that radiance of his eye,
That smile upon his wasted cheek; They tell us of his glory nigh,
In language that no tongue can speak. 4 A beam from heaven is sent to cheer
The pilgrim on his gloomy road; And angels are attending near,
To bear him to their bright abode. 5 Who would not wish to die like those
Whom God's own Spirit deigns to bless! To sink into that soft repose,
Then wake to perfect happiness!
Far that to further tests
purring fres and fortune
, and per
, glorified by gray als
With praises of redena in
The Christian's party it
When all is pokal
Sheds mellow lustre of the
So peacefully he sake to
Surtains sad cheers his laya
That smile apo his Feed
La language that no tingut
The pilgrim on his play ra
To bear him to their bright sides
Whom God's own Spinit deguata
Then wake to perfect hagster!
2 Follow'd by their works they go,
Where their Head is gone before ; Reconciled by grace below,
Grace hath open'd merey's door; Justified through faith alone,
Here they knew their sins forgiven; Here they laid their burden down,
Hallow'd, and made meet for beaten.
7th P. M. S liner T. Continued.-The Saviour's smile. THY should we lament the lot
to Let the world, who know us not,
Call us hopeless and unblest: When from Hesh the spirit, freed,
Hastens homeward to turn, Mortals cry,-A man is dead!
Angels sing, -A child is born!
Born into the world above,
They our happy brother greet; Bear him to the throne of love,
Place him at the Saviour's feet: Jesus smiles, and says,--Well done!
Good and faithful servant thou! Enter and receive thy crown;
Reigu with me triumphant now. . 8 Angels cateh the approving sound,
Bow, and bless the just sward; Hail the heir with glory crown'd, Now rejoicing with his Lord,
Fuller jnys ordam'd to know,
Waiting for the gen'ral doom, When the Archangel's trump shall blow
Rise, ye dead, to judgment come!