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2 No terror has death, or the grave,

To those who believe in the Lord
Who know the Redeemer can save,

And lean on the faith of his word :
While ashes to ashes, and dust

We give unto dust, in our gloom,
The light of salvation we trust,

Which hangs like a lamp in the tomb. 3 0 Lord God Almighty! to thee

We turn, as our solace above;
The waters may fail from the sen,

But never thy fountains of love:
O teach us thy will to obey,

And sing, with one heart and accord,
He gave, and he taketh away,

And praised be the name of the Lord.


C. M.
Victory over the fears of death.
O ,

To cheer my dying hours, -
To triumph o'er approaching death,

And all his frightful powers.
9 Joyful, with all the strength I have,

My quiv'ring lips should sing,
Where is thy boasted vict'ry, Grave

And where, O Death, thy sting!
8 If sin be pardon'd, I'm secure;

Death has no sting beside :
The law gives sin its damning power,

But Christ, my ransom, died.
4 Now to the God of victory

Immortal thanks be paid,
Who makes us conqu'rors, while we die,

Through Christ, our living Head.

of God

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L. M.
Disembodied saints.
THE saints who die of Christ possessid,
For them no further test remains,
of purging fires and torturing pains.
2 Who trusting in their Lord depart,
Cleansed from all sin, and pure in heart,
The bliss unmix'd, the glorious prize,
They find with Christ in paradise.
3 Yet, glorified by grace alone,
They cast their crowns before the throne,
And fill the echoing courts above
With praises of redeeming love.

L. M.
The Christian's parting hour.
OW sweet the hour of closing day,

When all is peaceful and serene,
And when the sun, with cloudless ray,

Sheds mellow lustre o'er the scene! 2 Such is the Christian's parting hour;

So peacefully he sinks to rest;
When faith, endued from heaven with powa,

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!


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Die beiden
THE who died Ols

Far that to further tests

purring fres and fortune
! Who fresting in their las
Clestised from all sin

, and per
The lise ammir'd, the planer
They fod with Christ is per

, glorified by gray als
They cast their cremos dela
Ao fill the ecboing our

With praises of redena in

The Christian's party it

When all is pokal
And when the st, with cladies

Sheds mellow lustre of the
: Such is the Christian's partage

So peacefully he sake to
When faith, esdeved from beint

Surtains sad cheers his laya
3 Mark but that radiante el seu

That smile apo his Feed
They sell us o his glory with

La language that no tingut
A bean from hesten a sent to the

The pilgrim on his play ra
And sagels are attending near

To bear him to their bright sides
Who would not wish to die list

Whom God's own Spinit deguata
To sink into that sort reposre,

Then wake to perfect hagster!

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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!

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