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For he who bade the tempest roar
Can bid the tempest cease.

4 Here will we rest, here build our hopes,
Nor murmur at his rod ;

He's more to us than all the world,
Our Health, our Life, our God.

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The Mourner's Thoughts of Heaven. 1 NOT for the pious dead we weep; Their sorrows now are o'er ;

The sea is calm, the tempest past,

On that eternal shore.

BARBAULD.

2 Their peace is sealed, their rest is sure, Within that better home;

Awhile we weep and linger here,

Then follow to the tomb.

3 0, might some dream of visioned bliss,
Some trance of rapture, show
Where, on the bosom of their God,
They rest from human woe!

4 Thence may their pure devotion's flame
On us, on us descend;

To us their strong aspiring hopes,
Their faith, their fervors lend.

5 Let these our shadowy path illume,
And teach the chastened mind
To welcome all that's left of good,
To all that 's lost resigned.

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Human Frailty and Divine Support.

1 LET others boast how strong they be,

Nor death nor danger fear;

But we'll confess, O Lord, to thee,
What feeble things we are.

WATTS.

2 Fresh as the grass our bodies stand,
And flourish bright and gay;

A blasting wind sweeps o'er the land,
And fades the grass away.

3 Our life contains a thousand springs,
And dies if one be gone;

Strange! that a harp of thousand strings
Should keep in tune so long.

4 But 't is our God supports our frame,
The God who built us first;
Salvation to th' almighty name,
That reared us from the dust.

5 While we have breath, or use our tongues,
Our Maker we 'll adore ;

His spirit moves our heaving lungs,
Or they would breathe no more.

514.

7, 6, & 8s. M.

The Land of Rest.

NOEL'S COLL.

1 BROTHER, thou art gone to rest;
We will not weep for thee;
For thou art now where oft on earth
Thy spirit longed to be.

2 Brother, thou art gone to rest;
Thine is an early tomb;

But God hath summoned thee away;
Thy Father called thee home.

3 Brother thou art gone to rest ;

Thy toils and cares are o'er ;
And sorrow, pain, and suffering, now
Shall ne'er distress thee more.

4 Brother, thou art gone to rest ;
Thy sins are all forgiven;

And saints in light have welcomed thee
To share the joys of heaven.

5 Brother, thou art gone to rest;
And this shall be our prayer,
That, when we reach our journey's end,
Thy glory we may share.

515.

11 & 10s. M. SPIRITUAL SONGS.

Invitation to the Mercy-seat.

1 COME, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish ; Come, at the mercy-seat fervently kneel; Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish ;

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. 2 Joy of the desolate, light of the straying, Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying, Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure. 3 Here see the bread of life; see waters flowing

Forth from the throne of God, pure from above; Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing Earth has no sorrow but heaven can remove.

516.

L. M.

Address to the dying Christian.

1 GO, spirit of the sainted dead,

J. N. BROWN.

Go to thy longed-for, happy home :
The tears of man are o'er thee shed;
The voice of angels bids thee come.

2 If life be not in length of days,

In silvered locks and furrowed brow,
But living to the Saviour's praise,

How few have lived so long as thou!

3 Though earth may boast one gem the less,
May not e'en heaven the richer be?
And myriads on thy footsteps press,
To share thy blest eternity.

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The Christian's tranquil Death.
1 THIS place is holy ground;
World, with its cares, away;
A holy, solemn stillness round

MONTGOMERY.

This lifeless, mouldering clay;
Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,
Can reach the peaceful sleeper here.
2 Behold the bed of death,

The pale and mortal clay;

Heard ye the sob of parting breath?
Marked ye the eye's last ray?
No; life so sweetly ceased to be,
It lapsed in immortality.

3 Why mourn the pious dead?
Why sorrows swell our eyes
Can sighs recall the spirit fled?
Shall vain regrets arise?

?

Though death has caused this altered mien,
In heaven the ransomed soul is seen.

4 Bury the dead, and weep

In stillness o'er the loss:

Bury the dead; in Christ they sleep
Who bore on earth his cross;

And from the grave their dust shall rise,
In his own image, to the skies.

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God the Author of Mercies and Afflictions.

1 NAKED, as from the earth we came,

And rose to life at first,

We to the earth return again,

And mingle with the dust.

2 The dear delights we here enjoy,
And fondly call our own,

WATTS.

TOPLADY.

Are only favors borrowed now,
To be repaid anon.

3 T is God who lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave;

He gives, and, blesséd be his name,
He takes but what he gave.

4 Peace, all our angry passions, then;
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sovereign will,
And every murmur die.

5 If smiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread;

And we'll adore the justice, too,
That strikes our comforts dead.

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The dying Christian to his Soul.

1 DEATHLESS spirit, now arise;
Soar, thou native of the skies,
Go to shine before the throne;
Deck the Mediator's crown.
2 Go, his triumphs to adorn,
Made for God, to God return;
Lo! he beckons from on high;
Fearless to his presence fly.
3 Burst thy shackles; drop thy clay;
Sweetly breathe thyself away;
Singing, to thy crown remove,
Swift of wing and fired with love.

4 See the haven full in view ;

Love divine shall bear thee through;
Trust to that propitious gale;
Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail.
5 Saints in glory, perfect made,
Wait thy passage through the shade;

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