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So close they follow, such wild order keep,
We think ourselves awake, and are asleep,
So softly death succeeded life in her,
She did but dream of Heaven, and she was there.
No pains she suffer'd, nor expired with noise;
Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still voice.

John Dryden

cxxxi

MAGDALEN'S HYMN

During the Plague

The air of death breathes through our souls,

The dead all round us lie;
By day and night the death-bell tolls,

And says, " Prepare to die."

The face that, in the morning sun,

We thought so wondrous fair,
Hath faded, ere his course was run,

Beneath its golden hair.

I see the old man in his grave

With thin locks silvery-grey;
I see the child's bright tresses wave

In the cold breath of day.

The loving ones we loved the best,

Like music, all are gone!
And the wan moonlight bathes in rest

Their monumental stone.

But not, when the death prayer is said,

The life of life departs; The body in the grave is laid,

Its beauty in our hearts.

At holy midnight, voices sweet

Like fragrance fill the room,
And happy ghosts with noiseless feet

Come bright'ning from the tomb.

We know who sends the visions bright,
From whose dear side they came !—

We veil our eyes before Thy light,
We bless our Saviour's name.

This frame of dust, this feeble breath,
The plague may soon destroy;

We think on Thee, and feel in death
A deep and awful joy.

Dim is the light of vanish'd years

In the glory yet to come;
O idle grief! O foolish tears!

When Jesus calls us home.

Like children for some bauble fair
That weep themselves to rest;

We part with life—awake! and there
The jewel in our breast

Prof. Wilson

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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 Saviour see.

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 Saviour see.

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
My Saviour see.

I said sometimes with tears,
Ah me! I'm loth to die!
Lord, silence Thou these fears:
My life's with Thee on high.
Sweet truth to me!
I shall arise,
And with these eyes
My Saviour see.

What means my trembling heart,
To be thus shy of death?
My life and I shan't part,
Though I resign my breath.
Sweet truth to me!
I shall arise,
And with these eyes
My Saviour see.

Then welcome, harmless grave:
By thee to Heaven I'll go:
My Lord His death shall save
Me from the flames below.
Sweet truth to me!
I shall arise,
And with these eyes
My Saviour see.

S. Crossman

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cxxxiu
TO A DYING CHRISTIAN

Happy soul! thy days are ended,

All thy mourning days below;
Go, by angel guards attended,

To the sight of Jesus go!
Waiting to receive thy spirit,

Lo, the Saviour stands above,
Shews the purchase of His merit,

Reaches out the crown of love!

Struggle through thy latest passion

To thy dear Redeemer's breast,
To His uttermost salvation,

To His everlasting rest!
For the joy He sets before thee,

Bear a momentary pain;
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?

"O!" said one, "if I might choose
Long at the gate of bliss would I lie,
And feast my spirit, ere it fly,

With bright celestial views.
M

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