256

S

8, 7, 4.

EE the eternal Judge descending,

Seated on his Father's throne;

Now, poor sinner, Christ will show thee That he's with the Father one. Trumpets call thee;

Stand and hear thy awful doom.

2 Hear the sinner now lamenting,
At the sight of fiercer pain:
Cries and tears he now is venting,
But he weeps and cries in vain-
Greatly mourning

That he ne'er was born again.

8 Yonder sits the slighted Savior,
With the marks of dying love;
O that I had sought his favor,
When I felt his spirit move!
Doom'd I'm justly,

For I have against him strove.

4 All his wooing I have slighted,
While he daily sought my soul;
If my vows to him I plighted,
Yet for sin I broke them all.
Golden moments,

How neglected did they roll!

There I see my godly neighbors,
Who were once despised by me;
Now they're clad in dazzling splendor,
Waiting my sad fate to see.

Farewell, neighbors!

Dismal gulf, I'm bound for thee!

257

P. M.

THERE will be mourning

At the judgment seat of Christ! Parents and children there shall part, Shall part to meet no more.

20 there will be mourning

At the judgment seat of Christ!
Brothers and sisters there shall part,
Shall part to meet no more.

3 0 there will be praising

At the judgment seat of Christ!
Parents and children there shall meet,
Shall meet to part no more.

4 0 there will be shouting

At the judgment seat of Christ!
Brothers and sisters there shall meet,
Shall meet to part no more.

MY days, my weeks, my months, my years,

Fly rapid as the whirling spheres

Around the steady pole.

Time, like the tide, its motion keeps,
And I must launch through endless deeps,
Where endless ages roll.

2 The grave is near the cradle scene,
How swift the moments pass between,
And whisper as they fly,

66

Unthinking man, remember this, Though fond of sublunary bliss, That you must groan and die."

3 My soul, attend the solemn call:
Thine earthly tent must shortly fall,
And thou must take thy flight
Beyond the vast expansive blue,
To sing above, as angels do,
Or sink in endless night.

4 How great the bliss, how great the wo,
Hangs on this inch of time below-
On this precarious breath!
The Lord of nature only knows
Whether another year shall close,
Ere I expire in death.

5 Long ere the sun shall run his round,
I may be buried under ground,
And there, in silence, rot.
Alas! an hour may close the scene,
And, ere twelve months shall roll between,
My name be quite forgot.

6 But will my soul be thus extinct,
And cease to live, and cease to think?
It can not, can not be.

No; my immortal can not die.
What wilt thou do, or whither fly,
When death shall set thee free?

7 Will mercy then her arms extend?
Will Jesus be thy guardian friend,
And heaven thy dwelling place?
Or shall insulting fiends appear
And drag thee down to dark despair,
Below the reach of grace?

8 A heav'n or hell, and these alone,
Beyond the present life are known;
There is no middle state.

To-day attend the call divine

To-morrow may be none of thine,
Or it may be too late.

9 O do not pass this as a dream!
Vast is the change, whate'er it seem
To poor, unthinking man.

Lord, at thy footstool I would bow;
Bid conscience plainly tell me now,
What it would tell me then.

10 If in destruction's road I stray,
Help me to choose the better way
That leads to joys on high.

Thy grace impart, my guilt forgive,
Nor let me ever dare to live

So as I dare not die.

HOU art gone to the grave; but we will

Tnot deplore thee,

Though sorrow and darkness encompass the tomb;

The Savior has passed through its portals before thee,

And the lamp of his love is thy guide thro' the gloom.

2 Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy

side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may hope since the sinless has died.

3 Thou art gone to the grave, and its mansion forsaking,

Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt linger'd long;

But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on thy waking,

And the song which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave; but 'twere wrong to deplore thee,

When God was thy ranson, thy guardian, thy guide;

He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee,

For death hath no sting since the Savior hath died.

260

8, 8, 8, 4.

THERE is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.

2 The storm that wrecks the wintry sky
No more disturbs their deep repose
Than summer evening's latest sigh,
That shuts the rose.

3 Now, traveler, in the vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,

Through time's dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight.

4 The soul, of origin divine,

God's glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine,
A star of day.