CXXXII HOPE IN DEATH My life's a shade, my days Apace to death decline; My Lord is Life, He'll raise My dust again, e'en mine. Sweet truth to me! I shall arise, And with these eyes My peaceful grave shall keep My bones till that sweet day; I wake from my long sleep And leave my bed of clay. Sweet truth to me! I shall arise, And with these eyes My Lord His angels shall Their golden trumpets sound, At whose most welcome call My grave shall be unbound. Sweet truth to me! I shall arise, And with these eyes I said sometimes with tears, Sweet truth to me! I shall arise, And with these eyes My Saviour see. What means my trembling heart, My life and I shan't part, I shall arise, And with these eyes My Saviour see. Then welcome, harmless grave : By thee to Heaven I'll go : Me from the flames below. Sweet truth to me! I shall arise, And with these eyes My Saviour see. S. Crossman CXXXIII TO A DYING CHRISTIAN Happy soul! thy days are ended, Lo, the Saviour stands above, Struggle through thy latest passion To His everlasting rest! Die, to live the life of glory; Suffer, with thy Lord to reign ! Charles Wesley CXXXIV A REAL OCCURRENCE IN A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS Which is the happiest death to die? M Mine were a lingering death without pain, "Fain would I catch a hymn of love "No," said another, "so not I, Nor see the tear of sorrow starting, Nor hear the quivering lips that bless me, Nor the frame with mortal terror quaking, Nor the heart where love's soft bands are breaking— All bliss, without a pang to cloud it! So would I die! O, how bright Were the realms of light, Bursting at once upon my sight! I long to go, These passing hours how sad and slow!" His voice grew faint, and fix'd was his eye, The hue of his cheek and lip decay'd, His spirit was fled : Painless and swift as his own desire, The soul undress'd From her mortal rest And stepp'd in her car of heavenly fire; And proved how bright Were the realms of light, Bursting at once upon the sight. James Edmeston CXXXV A DEATH SCENE Dying, still slowly dying, As the hours of night rode by, Till after the middle watches, As we softly near her trod, When her soul from its prison fetters |