THE LORD OF LIFE IS RISEN!

289

O Head of all believing!
O Joy of all the grieving!

Unite us, Lord, to Thee.

Here at Thy tomb, O Jesus!
How sweet the morning's breath!
We hear in all the breezes,

Where is thy sting, O Death!
Dark Hell flies in commotion;
While, far o'er earth and ocean,
Loud Hallelujahs ring!

O publish this salvation,

Ye heralds, through the earth! To every buried nation

Proclaim the day of birth! Till, rising from their slumbers, The countless heathen numbers Shall hail the risen light.

Hail, hail, our Jesus risen!

Sing, ransomed brethren! sing;
Through Death's dark, gloomy prison,
Let Easter chorals ring.
Haste, haste, ye captive legions!

Come forth from sin's dark regions,
In Jesus' Kingdom live.

VOL. I.- - 19

THE TOMB IS EMPTY.

HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. Hymns of Faith and Hope, Second Series, 1861.

THE

HE tomb is empty; wouldst thou have it full?
Still sadly clasping the unbreathing clay:

O weak in faith, O slow of heart and dull,
To dote on darkness, and shut out the day!

The tomb is empty; He who, three short days,
After a sorrowing life's long weariness,
Found refuge in this rocky resting-place,
Has now ascended to the throne of bliss.

Here lay the Holy One, the Christ of God,
He who for death gave death, and life for life;
Our heavenly Kinsman, our true flesh and blood;
Victor for us on hell's dark field of strife.

This was the Bethel, where, on stony bed,
While angels went and came from morn till even,
Our truer Jacob laid his wearied head;
This was to him the very gate of heaven.

The Conqueror, not the conquered, He to whom
The keys of death and of the grave belong,
Crossed the cold threshold of the stranger's tomb,
To spoil the spoiler and to bind the strong.

THE TOMB IS EMPTY.

Here Death had reign'd; into no tomb like this
Had man's fell foe aforetime found his way;
So grand a trophy ne'er before was his,
So vast a treasure, so divine a prey.

But now his triumph ends; the rock-barred door
Is opened wide, and the Great Pris'ner gone:
Look round and see, upon the vacant floor,
The napkin and the grave-clothes lie alone.

291

Yes: Death's last hope, his strongest fort and prison,
Is shattered, never to be built again;

And He, the mighty Captive, He is risen,
Leaving behind the gate, the bar, the chain.

Yes, He is risen who is the First and Last;
Who was and is; who liveth and was dead:
Beyond the reach of death He now has passed,
Of the one glorious Church the glorious Head

The tomb is empty; so, ere long, shall be
The tombs of all who in this Christ repose;
They died with Him who died upon the tree,
They live and rise with Him who lived and rose.

Death has not slain them; they are freed, not slain.

It is the gate of life, and not of death,

That they have entered; and the grave in vain
Has tried to stifle the immortal breath.

All that was death in them is now dissolved;
For death can only what is death's destroy;
And, when this earth's short ages have revolved,
The disimprisoned life comes forth with joy.
Their life-long battle with disease and pain
And mortal weariness is over now:

Youth, health, and comeliness return again;
The tear has left the cheek, the sweat the brow.
They are not tasting death, but taking rest,
On the same holy couch where Jesus lay,
Soon to awake all glorified and blest,
When day has broke and shadows fled away.

ANGELS, ROLL THE ROCK AWAY.

From the Protestant - Episcopal Collection, prepared by Drs. BURGESS, COXE, MUHLENBERG, and other eminent Episcopalians, as an Appendix to the CommonPrayer Book, and publ. Philad. 1861. It is there ascribed to "Gibbons," but is based upon an older and longer hymn of THOMAS SCOTT (a Presbyterian minister with Arian sentiments, at Lowestoft in Suffolk, who published 104 Lyric Poems and Hymns, mostly of inferior merit, 1773), commencing: "Trembling earth gave awful signs." It was transferred to the Warrington Collection (p. 77), in seven verses, with a "Hallelujah" after each verse. It was altered by the Rev. THOMAS GIBBONS (a Congregational minister in England, 1720-1785), and passed through various transformations. The following reads almost like another hymn, but is at least equal to the original.

ANGELS, roll the rock away!

Death, yield up the mighty prey!

See, the Saviour quits the tomb,
Glowing with immortal bloom.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Christ the Lord is risen to-day.

O JESUS! WHEN I THINK OF THEE.

Shout, ye seraphs; angels, raise
Your eternal song of praise;
Let the earth's remotest bound
Echo to the blissful sound:

Hallelujah Hallelujah!
Christ the Lord is risen to-day.

Holy Father, Holy Son,
Holy Spirit Three in One,
Glory as of old to Thee

Now and evermore shall be!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Christ the Lord is risen to-day.

293

O JESUS! WHEN I THINK OF THEE.

By GEORGE W. BETHUNE, D.D.; died 1862, on a Sabbath, in Florence, on which First published in his Memoir, by Dr. A. R. van

he preached his last sermon.

Nest, New York, 1867, p. 423.

JESUS! when I think of Thee,
Thy manger, cross, and throne,

My spirit trusts exultingly
In Thee, and Thee alone.

I see Thee in Thy weakness first;
Then, glorious from Thy shame,
I see Thee death's strong fetters burst,
And reach heaven's mightiest name.