8 Then leaving all I lov❜d below, Must hear the judge pronounce my fate, 4 Lord Jesus! help me now to flee, 5 Then when the solemn bell I hear, 700. 1 W C. M. The Sting of Death is Sin. HENCE has the world her magic power! Recoil from weary life's best hour, And covet longer wo? 2 The cause is conscience-conscience oft Her voice is terrible, though soft, 3 Then anxious to be longer spar'd, 'Tis judgment shakes him-there's the fear And must despair to pay. 5 Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid; Think on the grave where he was laid, 701. 1 (472.) C. M. The voice of the tomb. HARK! from the tombs a doleful sound My ears attend the cry: "Ye living men, come view the ground Where you must shortly lie. your bed 2 "Princes, this clay must be 8 Great God! is this our certain doom? Still walking downward to the tomb, 4 Grant us the pow'r of quick'ning grace (473.) C. M. 702. The vanity of man as mortal. 1 TEACH me the measure of my days. Thou Maker of my frame! I would survey life's narrow space, 2 A span is all that we can boast; In all his flow'r and prime. 3 See the vain race of mortals move, They rage and strive, desire and love, 4 Some walk in honour's gaudy show; They toil for heirs they know not who, 5 What should I wish or wait for then, 6 Now I resign my earthly hope, I give my mortal int'rest up, 703. 1 THEE we adore, eternal Name! How feeble is our mortal frame, 2 Our wasting lives are short'ning still, Leaves but the number less. 3 Dangers stand thick through all the ground, To push us to the tomb; And fierce diseases wait around, To hurry mortals home. 4 Good God! on what a slender thread, 5 Yet while a world of joy or wo Waken, O Lord! our drowsy sense, 704. (475.) L. M. 1 THAT awful hour will soon appear, 2 Death calls my friends, my neighbours hence 3 Think, O my soul! how much depends 4 Thy remnant minutes strive to use; 5 Lord of my life, inspire my heart For strength, and life, and death are thine 6 O teach me the celestial skill, Each awful warning to improve: And, while my days are short'ning still, 705. 1 G (478.) L. M. Numbering our days. MOD of eternity! from thee Did infant time his being draw; Moments and days, and months and years, 2 Silent and slow they glide away; Steady and strong the current flows; Lost in eternity's wide sea, The Loundless gulf from which it rose. Thoughtless and vain, our mortal race That country whence there's no return. 5 Great source of wisdom! teach my heart 706. (481.) L. M. 1 THE morning flow'rs display their sweets, 2 Nipt by the wind's untimely blast, The short-liv'd beauties die away. 3 So blooms the human face divine, When youth its pride and beauty shows; Fairer than spring the colours shine And sweeter than the virgin rose. 4 Or worn by slowly rolling years, The short-liv'd beauties die away. Safe from diseases and decline. 6 Let sickness blast and death devour, |