HYMN 436. 8 & 7s. M. [#]

Devotional Praise.

1 PRAISE to thee, thou great Creator;
Praise to thee from every tongue ;
Join, my soul, with every creature,
Join the universal song.

2 For ten thousand blessings given,
For the hope of future joy,
Sound his praise through earth and heaven,
Sound Jehovah's praise on high.

HYMN 437. S. M. [#]

Pure Devotion.

1 LET pure devotion rise,
And kindle to a flame,
Ascend like incense to the skies,
In our Redeemer's name.

2 His word, like drops of dew,
Descends on every heart,
Subdues and fashions us anew,
And bids our sins depart.

3 His grace our faith sustains,
And dissipates our fear,
Binds all our wounds, abates our pains,
And gives us comforts here.

4 He bids our willing eyes

Look through the gloomy shade,
To joys immortal in the skies,
That never cloy nor fade.

CONSOLATORY SUBJECTS.

HYMN 438. C. M. [b]

God the Source of Consolation.

1 WHEN 'reft of all, and hopeless care
Would sink us to the tomb,
What power shall save us from despair?
What dissipate the gloom?

2 No balm that earthly plants distil
Çan soothe the mourner's smart ;
No mortal hand, with lenient skill,
Bind
up
the broken heart.
3 But One alone, who reigns above,
Our wo to joy can turn,

And light the lamp of life and love
That long has ceased to burn.

4 Then, O my soul, to that One flee;
To God thy woes reveal;
His eye alone thy wounds can see,
His power alone can heal.

HYMN 439. L. M. [b]

Death the Gate of endless Joy.

1 WHY should we start and fear to die? What timorous worms we mortals are! Death is the gate of endless joy,

And yet we dread to enter there.

2 The pains, the groans, and dying strife,
Fright our approaching souls away;
Still we shrink back again to life,
Fond of our prison and our clay.

3 O, if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul would stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

4 Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.

HYMN 440. C. M. [b]

Comfort under Bereavements.

1 WHY do we mourn departed 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, As fast as time can move?

Nor would we wish the hours more slow,
To keep us from our Love.

3 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb ?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.

4 Thence he arose, ascended high, And showed our feet the way;

Up to the Lord our souls shall fly
At the great rising day.

5 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye saints, ascend the skies.

HYMN 441. L. P. M. [b]

On the Death of Friends.

1 C, GoD of my salvation, hear
My nightly groans, my daily prayer,
That still employ my wasting breath:
My soul, declining to the grave,
Implores thy sovereign power to save
From dark despair and gloomy death.

2 Thy hand lies heavy on my soul, And waves of sorrow o'er me roll,

While dust and silence spread the gloom : My friends beloved, in happier days, The dear companions of my ways, Descend around me to the tomb.

3 As lost in lonely grief I tread The silent mansions of the dead,

Or to some thronged assembly go; Through all alike I rove alone, Forgotten here, and there unknown,

The change renews my piercing wo.

4 My friends are gone, my comforts fled, The sad remembrance of the dead

Recalls my wandering thoughts to mourn;

But, through each melancholy day,
I call on thee, and still will pray,
Imploring still thy kind return.

HYMN 442. C. M. [bor #]

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.

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 'tis our God supports our frame,
The God that built us first;
Salvation to Jehovah's 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.

HYMN 443. S. M. [b or #]

Comfort in Sickness and Death.

1 WHEN sickness shakes the frame, Each dazzling pleasure flies ;