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At the Death of a Believer.
HY do we mourn departing Friends,

Or shake at Death's Alarms 'Tis but the Voice that Jesus sends

To call them to his Arms.

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Are we not tending upward too,

As fast as Time can move? Why should we wish the Hours more flow,

That keep us from our Love? Why should we tremble to convey

Their Bodies to the Tomb : T'here the dear Flesh of Jesus lay,

And left a sweet Perfume.

The Graves of all his Saints he blessid,

And soft'ned every Bed ;
Where should the dying Members reft,

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

And Thew'd our Feet the Way! Up to the Lord our Flesh shall fly

At the great rising Day.


TEACH me the Measure of my Days,
TEAchou maker

of my Frame"; I would survey Life's narrow Space,

And learn how frail I am,

A Span is all that we can boaft,

An Inch or two of Time:
Man is but Vanity and Dust

In all his Flow'r and Prime.
See the vain Race of Mortals move,

Like Shadows o'er the Plain,
They rage and strive, desire and love,

But all their Noife is vain.

Some walk in Honour's gaudy Show,

Some dig for golden Ore : They toil for Heirs, they know not who,

And ftrait are seen no more. We are but Strangers here below,

As all our Fathers were; May we be well prepar’d to go,

When we the Summons hear;



The Same.
Y Soul, come meditate the Day,

And think how near it ftands, When thou must quit this House of Clay;

And fly to unknown Lands.
Oh could we die with those that die,

And place us in their Stead !
Then would our Spirits learn to fly,

And converse with the Dead.
Then should we see the Saints above

In their own glorious Forms,
And wonder why our Souls should love

To dwell with mortal Worms,


H Y M N XLV. A Funeral Hymn for a Believer,

VIS finish'd! 'tis done!

The Spirit is fled, The Pris'ner is gone,

The Chriftian is dead; The Christian is living,

In Jesus his Love, And gladly receiving

A Kingdom above.

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All Honour and Praise

Are Jesus's Due; Supported by Grace,

He fought his Way thro' : Triumphantly glorious,

Thro' Jesus's Zeal, And more than victorious,

O'er Sin, Death, and Helf. Then let us record

The conqu’ring Name, Our Captain and Lord

With Shoutings proclaim ; Who trust in his Paffion,

And follow our Head, To certain Salvation

We all thall be led.

O Jesus ! lead on

Thy militant Care, And give us the Crown

Of Righteousness there :

Where dazzl'd with Glory

The Seraphim gaze, Or proftate adore thee

In Silence of Praise

Come, Lord and display

Thy Sign in the Sky, And bear us away

To Mansions on high; The Kingdom be giv'n,

The Purchase divine, And crown us in Heay'n

Eternally thine.



The Same.
OSANNA to Jesus on high !

Another is enter'd his Reft,
Another is 'fcap'd to the Sky,

And lodg’d in Immanuel's Breast: The Soul of our Sister is gone

To heighten the Triumph above, Exalted to Jesus's Throne,

And clasp'd in the Arins of his Love.

How happy the Angels that fall

Transported at Jesus's Name !
The Saints whom he sooneft shall call

To share in the Feast of the Lamb !
No longer imprison'd in Clay,

Who next from his Dungeon shall fly? Who first shall be fummon'd away?

My merciful God-Is it I?

O Jefus ! If this be thy Will,

That suddenly I should depart, Thy Council of Mercy reveal,

And whisper the Call to my Heart. O give me a Signal to know

If foon thou would'ft have me to inove, And leave the dull Body below,

And fly to the Regions of Love.


The Same.
Hanks be to God, whose faithful Love

Hath call'd another to his Breast :
Translated himn to Joys above,
To Mansions of eternal Reft.

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By minift'ring Spirits convey'd,
Lodg'd in the Garner of the sky,
He rests; in Abraham's Bosom laid,
He lives with God, no more to die.
O that we all may thus break thro',
The Crown with holy Violence seize,
The starry Crown to Conqueft due,
The Crown of Life and Righteousness!

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Will not the righteous Judge bestow
The Prize on all who seek him here;
And long, while sojourning below,
To see their much-lov'd Lord appear ?
He will, (our Hearts cry out) he will
These eager Wishes more than meet,

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