591. L. M. STEKLE.
I GREAT God, to thee our evening song

With humble gratitude we raise;
Oh let thy mercy tune each tongue,

And fill our hearts with lively praise. 2 Dur days unclouded as they pass,

And every gently rolling hour, Are monuments of wondrous grace,

And witness to thy love and power. 3. Thy love and power, celestial guard,

Preserve us from surrounding harm: Can danger reach us while the Lord

Extends his kind, protecting arm ? 4 Let this blest hope our eyelids close;

With sleep refresh our humble frame; Safe in thy care may we repose,

And wake with praises to thy name. 592. L. M. Watts.

Morning and Erening.
I OUR God, how endless is thy love!

Thy gifts are every evening new;
And morning mercies, from above,

Gently distil like early dew. 2 Thou spread'st the curtains of the night,

Great Guardian of our sleeping hours ;
Thy sovereign word restores the light,

And quickens all our drowsy powers. 3 We yield our powers to thy command;

To thee we consecrate our days;
Perpetual blessings from thy hand

Demand perpetual songs of praise.
593. B. M. STENNETT.
1 HOW various and how new

Are thy compassions, Lord!
Each morning shall thy mercies show

Each night thy truth record. 2 Thy goodness, like the sun,

Dawn'd on our early days,
Ere infant reason had begun

To form our lips to praise.

3 Each object we beheld

Gave pleasure to our eyes;
And nature all our senses held

In bands of sweet surprise. 4 But pleasures more refin'd

Awaited that bless'd day,
When light arose upon our mind,

And chas'd our sins away. 5 How new thy mercies, then !

How sov'reign, and how free!
Our souls that had been dead in sin

Were made alive to thee. 594.

78. ANONYMOUS.

Funeral Hymns.
1 CLAY to clay, and dust to dust!

Let them mingle-for they must!
Give to earth the earthly clod,

For the spirit's fled to God.
2 Never more shall midnight's damp

Darken round this mortal lamp;
Never more shall noon-day's glance

Search this mortal countenance. 3 Deep the pit, and cold the bed,

Where the spoils of death are laid:
Stiff the curtains, chill the gloom,

Of man's melancholy tomb.
4 Look aloft! The spirit's risen-

Death cannot the soul imprison :
'Tis in heaven that spirits dwell,

Glorious, though invisible.
5 Thither let us turn our view;

Peace is there, and comfort too:
There shall those we love be found,

Tracing joy's eternal round. 595.

L. M. WATTS.
1 UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb!

Take this new treasure to thy trust
And give these sacred relics room

To slumber in thy silent dust.
2 No pain, no grief, no anxious fear

Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes Can reach the peaceful sleeper here,

While angels watch its soft repose. 3 So Jesus slept; God's dying Son

Passed thro' the grave, and blessed the bed : Then rest, dear saint, till from his throne,

The morning break, and pierce the shade. 4 Break, sacred morning, from the skies !

Then, clothed anew in bright array,
Immortal form ! to lise arise,

And swell the song of endless day.
596. L. M. FAWCETT.
I THOU, God of mercy! wilt indulge

The flowing tear, the heaving sigh,
When righteous persons fall around,

When tender friends and kindred die. 2 Yet not one anxious, murmuring thought

Should with our mourning passions blend, Nor should our bleeding hearts forget

Th'almighty, ever-living Friend. 3 Beneath a numerous train of ills,

Our feeble fleshi and heart may fail;
Yet shall our hope in thee, our God,

O’er every gloomy fear prevail.
4 Parent, Protector, Guardian, Guide!

Thou art each tender name in one;
On thee we cast our every care,

And comfort seek from thee alone. 5 Our Father God! to thee we look,

Our rock, our portion, and our friend!
And on thy gracious love and truth

Our sinking souls shall still depend.
597. L. M. Mrs. BARBAULD.
1 AS fades the landscape from the sight,

When evening shades obscure the light; So fades, alas! the joys of earth,

And wither ere they scarce have birth. 2 As fades the lovely blooming flow'r,

Frail smiling solace of an hour;
So soon our transient comforts fly,
And pleasures only bloom to die.

3 As fades our friendship's early joy,

The seeming gold is half alloy
That tie that binds the human heart, na

The closer drawn, will sooner part.
4 Thus fade our sweetest comforts here,

Our dearest friends soon disappear;
When the loud call from God is giv'n,

They sleep in death to wake in heaven.
5 But there are joys that never fade, om

Where these privations ne'er invade;
Where virtue its rewards shall prove, aga
And triumph in redeeming love.

ойно робити 598. L. M. RIPPON'S COLL. ut 1 THE God of Love will sure indulge

The flowing tear, the heaving sigh,
When righteous persons fall around, -

When tender friends and kindred die.
2 Yet not one anxious murm'ring thought

Should with our mourning passions blend;
Nor would our bleeding hearts forget

Th' Almighty, ever-living friend. 3 Beneath a numerous train of ills,

Our feeble flesh and heart may fail;
Yet shall our hope in thee, our God,

O’er every gloomy fear prevail.
4 Parent and husband, guard and guide,

Thou art each tender name in one:
On thee we cast our every care,
And comfort seek from thee alone.

80

DO 5 Our Father God, to thee we look,

Our rock, our portion, and our friend,
And on thy cov'nant-love and truth
Our sinking souls shall still depend. TOS
599. C. M. DODDRIDGE.

Death and Burial of Christ.
1 WHY do we mourn departing friends,

Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends

To call them to his arms.
2 Are we not tending upward too,

To heaven's desired abode ?

How should we wish the hours more slow,

Which keep us from our God?
3 Why should we tremble to convey

Their bodies to the tomb ?
'Twas there the Saviour's body lay,

And left a long perfume.
4 The graves of all his saints he blest,

And softened every bed :
Where should the dying members rest,

But with their dying Head ?
5 Thence he arose, ascending high,

And showed our feet the way:
Up to the Lord his saints shall fly

At the great rising day.
6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,

And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground !

Ye saints ! ascend the skies. 600. C. M. PRATT'S COLL.

A Warning from the Grave.
1 BENEATH our feet and o'er our head

Is equal warning given:
Beneath us lie the countless dead,

Above us is the heaven!
2 Death rides on every passing breeze,

And larks on every flower;
Each season has its own disease,

Its peril every hour.
3 Turn, mortal turn !-thy danger know!

Where'er thy foot can tread
The earth rings hollow from below,

And warns thee of her dead ! 601.

C. M. PRATT'S COLL. The House appointed for all Liding. 1 HOW still and peaceful is the grave,

Where life's vain tumult's past, Th' appointed house, by heaven's decree,

Receives us all at last ! 2 The wicked there from troubling cease

Their passions rage no more; And there the weary pilgrim rests

From all the toils he bore.