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And let il faint or die ;
And foar to worlds on high :
And find its long-fought reft,
In the Redeemer's breaft.
I now the cross sustain,
And smile at toil and pain :
'Till my Deliv'rer come;
And take his exile home. 3 O what hath Jesus brought for me !
Before my ravish'd eyes
And trees of paradise :
Who taste the pleasures there !
And conqu’ring palms they bear. 4 O, what are all my suff'rings here,
If, Lord, thou count me meet
And worship at thy feet!
Take life or friends away;
In that eternal day.
All thy mourning days below;
To the fight of Jesus go.
Lo! the Saviour stands above,
Reaches out the crown of love.
To thy dear Redeemer's breast,
To his everlasting reft.
Bear a momentary pain ;
EAD of the church triumphant,
Till thou appear
Thy members here
And cry aloud,
And give to God
Thy love we praise,
Which knows no days,
We clap our hands exulting
The love divine,
Which made us thine,
Nor will we fear,
While thou art near,
By thee we shall
Break thro' them all,
The cross defpise
For that bigh prize Which thou haft ret before us : And if thou count us worthy, We each, as dying Stephen,
Shall see thee stand
At God's right-hand, To take us up to heaven.
Lord, I adore thy gracious will,
My Father's goodneis see : Accept the complicated wrong of Shemei's hand and Shemei's tongue,
As kind rebukes from thee.
HYMN CXCII. Jesu, the weary'wand'rer's reft,
Give me thy easy yoke to bear ; With stedfast patience arm my breast,
With fpotless love, and lowly fear. 2 Thankful I take the cup from thee,
Prepar'd and mingled by thy skill, Tho' bitter to the taste it be,
Pow'tful the wounded foul to heal. 3 Be thou, O Rock of Ages, nigh!
So Thall each murin'ring thought be gone ; And grief, and fear, and care shall fly
As clouds before the mid-day sun. 4 Speak to my warring paflions, “ Peace;"
Say to my trembling heart, “ Be ftill;" Thy pow'r my strength and fortress is,
For all things serve thy sov'reign will,
Thy boasted victory, O grave?
Can hurt, whom God delights to save ?
With anxious thoughts perplext?
Will save me in the next.
With inore than conquest bleft,
To my Redeemer's breast.
FUNER A L.
lovely appearance of death, What sight upon earth is so fair? Not all the gay pageants that breathe,
Can with a dead body compare:
The corpse when the spirit is filed,
And longing to lie in its stead. 2 How blert is our brother, bereft
Of all that could burden his mind;
This wearif me body behind !
Whose relics with envy I see,
No longer a finner like me. 3 This earth is affected no more
With fickness, or fhaken with pain :
And never Mall vex him again :
Shall redden this innocent clay ;
And passion is vanish'd away. 4. This languishing head is at rest,
Its thinking and aching are o'er ;
Is heav'd by affli&ion no more:
Of trouble and torturing pain;
It never thall flutter again.