HYMN 127. S.M.
Death and Eternity.
AND am I born to die!
To lay this body down?
And must my trembling spirit fly
Into a world unknown?
A land of deepest shade,
Unpierced by human thought;
The dreary regions of the dead,
Where all things are forgot.
Soon as from earth I go,
What will become of me?
Eternal happiness or woe
Must then my portion be:
Waked by the trumpet's sound,
I from my grave shall rise,
And see the Judge with glory crown'd,
And see the flaming skies.
3 How shall I leave my tomb?
With triumph or regret?
A fearful or a joyful doom,
A curse or blessing meet?
Will angel-bands convey
Their brother to the bar?
Or devils drag my soul away,
To meet its sentence there?
Who can resolve the doubt,
That rends my anxious breast?
Shall I be with the damn'd cast out,
Or number'd with the bless'd?
I must from God be driven,
Or with my Saviour dwell;
Must come at his command to heaven,
Or else-depart to hell.
O thou, that wouldst not have
One wretched sinner die,
Who diedst thyself my soul to save
From endless misery!
Show me the way to shun
Thy dreadful wrath severe :
That when thou comest on thy throne,
I may with joy appear.
6 Thou art thyself the way:
Thyself in me reveal:
So shall I spend my life's short day,
Obedient to thy will:
So shall I love my God,
Because he first loved me;
And praise thee in thy bright abode,
AND am I only born to die?
And must I suddenly comply
With nature's stern decree?
What after death for me remains?
Celestial joys or hellish pains,
To all eternity?
2 How then ought I on earth to live,
While God prolongs the kind reprieve,
And props the house of clay?
My sole concern, my single care,
To watch, and tremble, and prepare
Against that fatal day.
3 No room for mirth o trifling here,
For worldly hope, or worldly fear,
If life so soon is gone;
If now the Judge is at the door,
And all mankind must stand before
Th' inexorable throne.
4 No matter which my thoughts employ,
A moment's misery or joy;
But oh! when both shall end, Where shall I find my destined place? Shall I my everlasting days
With fiends or angels spend?
Prayer for Comfort in Death.
5 Nothing is worth a thought beneath,
But how I may escape the death
That never, never dies:
How make my own election sure,
And when I fail on earth, secure
A mansion in the skies.
6 Jesus, vouchsafe a pitying ray:
Be thou my guide, be thou my way
To glorious happiness:
Ah! write the pardon on my heart;
And whensoe'er I hence depart,
Let me depart in peace.
Prayer for Comfort in Death.
SHRINKING from the cold hand of death,
I too shall gather up my feet,
Shall soon resign my fleeting breath,
And die, my fathers' God to meet.
2 Number'd among thy people, I
Expect with joy thy face to see:
Because thou didst for sinners die,
Jesus, in death remember me.
3 O that without a lingering groan,
I may the welcome word receive!
My body with my charge lay down,
And cease at once to work and live.
4 Walk with me through the dreadful shade,
And certify that thou art mine;
My spirit, calm and undismay'd,
I shall into thy hands resign.
5 No anxious doubt, no guilty gloom,
Shall damp whom Jesu's presence cheers: My light, my life, my God is come,
And glory in his face appears.
The Frailty of Life.
THE morning flowers display their sweets,
And gay their silken leaves unfold,
As careless of the noontide heats
As fearless of the evening cold.
Nipp'd by the wind's unkindly blast,
Parch'd by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,
The short-lived beauties die away. 3 So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows;
Fairer than spring the colours shine,
And sweeter than the virgin rose.
4 Or worn by slowly rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,
The short-lived beauties die away.
5 Yet these new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine;
Revive with ever-during bloom,
Safe from diseases and decline.
6 Let sickness blast, let death devour,
If heaven must recompense our pains;"
Perish the grass, and íade the flower,
If firm the word of God remains..
The Shortness of Time.
ALMIGHTY Maker of my frame,
Teach me the measure of my days;
Teach me to know how frail I am,
And spend the remnant to thy praise.
2 My days are shorter than a span;
A little point my life appears;
How frail at best is dying man!
How vain are all his hopes and fears•
Christ saves from the Fear of Death
3 Vain his ambition, noise, and show;
Vain are the cares which rack his mind;
He heaps up treasures mix'd with woe,
And dies and leaves them all behind.
4 O be a nobler portion mine!
My God! I bow before thy throne:
Earth's fleeting treasures I resign,
And fix my hopes on thee alone.
HYMN 132. C.M.
The Death of the Righteous.
LORD, when we see a saint of thine
Lie gasping out his breath,
With longing eyes and looks divine
Smiling, and pleased in death,
2 We could be e'en content to lay
Our limbs upon that bed;
And ask thy envoy to convey
Our spirits in his stead.
3 Jesus, then purge my crimes away;
"Tis guilt creates my fears;
'Tis guilt gives death his fierce array,
And all the harm he bears.
4 O! if my threat'ning sins were gone,
And death had lost his sting;
I would invite the angel on,
And chide his lazy wing.
5 Joyful I'd lay this body down,
And leave this lifeless clay:
Without a sigh, without a groan,
And stretch and soar away.
Christ saves from the Fear of Death.
WHEN death appears before my sight,
In all his dire array,
Unequal to the dreadful fight,
My courage dies away.
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