And yet how unconcerned we go,
Upon the brink of death!

6 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense,

To walk this dangerous road; And if our souls are hurried hence, May they be found with God.

604

1

The Grave.

HERE is a calm for those who A rest for weary pilgrims found: They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,

Low in the ground.

weep,

2 The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh,
That shuts the rose.

3 Thou traveller in the vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,

Through time's dark wilderness of years
Pursue thy flight.

4 Whate'er thy lot-where'er thou be—
Confess thy folly-kiss the rod;
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.

5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemned in wretchedness to roam,

Thou soon shalt reach a sheltering port,

605

1

TIME

A quiet home.

Shortness of Life.

IME-what an empty vapour 'tis !
And days-how swift they are!

Swift as an Indian arrow flies,

Or like a shooting star.

2 Our life is ever on the wing,
And death is ever nigh;

The moment when our lives begin,
We all begin to die.

3 Yet, mighty God, our fleeting days
Thy lasting favors share;

Yet with the bounties of thy grace
Thou load'st the rolling year.

Watts.

8. 4.

Montgomery.

C. M.

4 'Tis sovereign mercy finds us food,
And we are clothed with love;
While grace stands pointing out the road
That leads our souls above.

5 Thus we begin the lasting song;
And when we close our eyes,

Let the next age thy praise prolong,
Till time and nature dies.

606

1

OFT

The tolling Bell.

FT as the bell, with solemn toll,
Speaks the departure of a soul,
Let each one ask himself, “Am I
Prepared, should I be called to die?"
2 Only this frail and fleeting breath
Preserves me from the jaws of death;
Soon as it fails, at once I'm gone,
And plunge into a world unknown.
3 Lord Jesus, help me now to flee,
And seek my hope alone in thee;
Apply thy blood, thy Spirit give,
Subdue my sins, and let me live.

4 Then when the solemn bell I hear,
If saved from guilt, I need not fear;
Nor would the thought distressing be-
Perhaps it next may toll for me.

607

Death and Eternity.

Watts.

LM.

Newton.

C. M.

1 TOOP down, my thoughts, that used to rise,

Converse awhile with death;

Think how a gasping mortal lies,

And pants away his breath.

2 His quiv'ring lip hangs feebly down,
His pulse is faint and few,
Then, speechless, with a doleful groan,
He bids the world adieu.

3 But oh, the soul that never dies!
At once it leaves the clay;

Ye thoughts, pursue it where it flies,
And track its wondrous way.

4 Up to the courts where angels dwell,
It mounts triumphant there,

Or devils plunge it down to hell,
In infinite despair.

5 And must my body faint and die?
And must this soul remove?

Oh for some guardian angel nigh,
To bear it safe above.

6 Jesus, to thy dear faithful hand

My naked soul I trust;

And my flesh waits for thy command,
To drop into my dust.

608

1

HA

A Funeral Thought.

ARK! from the tombs a doleful sound!
My ears attend the cry-

"Ye living men, come view the ground
Where you must shortly lie.

2" Princes, this clay must be your bed,
In spite of all your towers;

The tall, the wise, the rev'rend head,
Must lie as low as ours."

3 Great God, is this our certain doom,
And are we still secure,

Still walking downward to our tomb,
And yet prepare no more!

4 Grant us the power of quickening grace,
To fit our souls to fly;

Then, when we drop this dying flesh,
We'll rise above the sky.

609

Prayer for Divine Support.

E Whom angel hosts adore,

TERNAL God, enthroned on high,

Who yet to suppliant dust art nigh—
Thy presence I implore.

2 My flying years time urges on;
What's human must decay:

My friends, my young companions, gone,
Can I expect to stay?

3 Can I exemption plead when death
Projects his awful dart?

Can med'cines then prolong my breath,
Or virtue shield my heart?

Watts.

C. M.

Watts.

C. M.

4 Ah, no; then smooth the mortal hour;
On thee my hope depends;
Support me with almighty power,
While dust to dust descends.

5 Then shall my soul, O gracious God,
(While angels join the lay,)
Admitted to the bless'd abode,

Its endless anthems pay;

6 Through heaven, howe'er remote the bound,
Thy matchless love proclaim,

And join the choir of saints that sound
Their great Redeemer's name.

610

1

WH

Consolations in Sickness.

HEN languor and disease invade
This trembling house of clay,
'Tis sweet to look beyond my pains,
And long to fly away.

2 Sweet to look inward, and attend
The whispers of his love;
Sweet to look upward to the place
Where Jesus pleads above.

3 Sweet to reflect how grace divine
My sins on Jesus laid;

Sweet to remember that his blood
My debt of suffering paid.

4 Sweet on his faithfulness to rest,
Whose love can never end;
Sweet on his covenant of grace
For all things to depend.

5 Sweet, in the confidence of faith,
To trust his firm decrees;
Sweet to lie passive in his hands,
And know no will but his.

6 Sweet to rejoice in lively hope
That, when my change shall come,
Angels will hover round my bed,
And waft my spirit home.

611

1

WH

Hope in Affliction.

THEN musing sorrow weeps the past,
And mourns the present pain,

Rippon.

C. M.

Toplady.

C. M.

How sweet to think of peace at last,
And feel that death is gain.

2 'Tis not that murmuring thoughts arise,
And dread a Father's will;

'Tis not that meek submission flies,
And would not suffer still;

3 It is that heaven-taught faith surveys
The path that leads to light;
And longs her eagle plumes to raise,
And lose herself in sight.

4 It is that hope with ardor glows
To see him face to face,

Whose dying love no language knows
Sufficient art to trace.

5 It is that harassed conscience feels
The pangs of struggling sin;
And sees, though far, the hand that heals,
And ends the strife within.

6 Oh let me wing my hallowed flight
From earth-born wo and care;
And soar above these clouds of night,
My Saviour's bliss to share.

612

1

The Saviour's Presence in Death.

HY should we start and fear to die?

WHY

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

3 Oh, 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.

Noel.

L. M.

Watts.