4 Those eyes, so long in darkness veil'd,
Must wake the Judge to see,
And ev'ry word, and ev'ry thought,
Must pass his scrutiny.
5 Oh, may I in the Judge behold
My Saviour and my Friend ;
And far beyond the reach of death,
With all his saints ascend.
The Tolling Bell.
O FT as the bell, with solemn toll,
U Speaks the departure of a soul,
Let each one ask himself, “ Am I
Prepar'd, should I be call'd 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 plung'd into a world unknown.
3 Then, leaving all I lov'd below,
To God's tribunal I must go ;
Must hear the Judge pronounce my fate,
And fix my everlasting state.
4 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.
5 Then when the solemn bell I hear,
If sav'd from guilt, I need not fear ;
Nor would the thought distressing be,
Perhaps it next may toll for me.
6 Rather my spirit would rejoice,
And long and wish to hear thy voice :
Glad when it bids me earth resign,
Secure of heav'n, if thou art mine.
HYMN 356. C. M.
The Death of a Believer.
TN vain my fancy strives to paint
1 The moment after death;
The glories that surround a saint,
When yielding up his breath.
2 One gentle sigh his fetters breaks,
We scarce can say," he's gone !" Before the willing spirit takes
Its mansion near the throne.
3 Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
To trace the spirit's flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides the world of light. 4 Thus much (and this is all) we know,
Saints are completely blest ; Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest. 5 On harps of gold they praise his name,
His face they always view ; Then let us followers be of them, That we may praise him too.
HYMN 357. 1. M.
The Death of Saints. OUR life how short! a groan, a sigh! U We live, and then begin to die; Death steals upon us while we're green, Behind us digs a grave unseen.
2 But Oh! how great a mercy this,
That death's a portal into bliss;
While yet the body's scarce undrest,
The soul ascends to heav'nly rest.
3 My soul! death swallows up thy fears,
My grave-clothes wipe away all tears;
Why should we fear this parting pain,
Who die, that we may live again?
4 Oh! how the resurrection light
Will clarify believers' sight;
How joyful will the saints arise,
And rub the dust from off their eyes!
5 My soul! my body I will trust,
With him who numbers ev'ry dust;
My Saviour faithfully will keep
His own-their death is but a sleep.
HYMN 358. L. M.
The Happiness of departing, and being with Christ.
Phil. i. 23.
TULE on the verge of life I stand,
vyand view the scene on either hand,
My spirit struggles with the clay,
And longs to wing its flight away.
2 Come, ye angelic guardians; come,
And lead the willing pilgrim home;
Ye know the way to Jesu's throne,
Source of my joys, and of your own.
3 The blissful interview, how sweet!
To fall transported at his feet;
Rais'd in his arms to view his face,
Thro' the whole beamings of his grace.
4 Yet, with these prospects full in sight,
I'll wait thy signal for my flight;
For, while thy service I pursue,
I find my heav'n begun below.
HYMN 359. C. M.
Victory over Death through Christ.
1 Cor. xv. 57. WWHEN death appears before my sight,
In all his dire array, Unequal to the dreadful fight,
My courage dies away. 2 But see my glorious Leader nigh!
My Lord, my Saviour lives : Before him death's pale terrors fly,
And my faint heart revives.
3 He left his dazzling throne above,
He met the tyrant s dart,
And (O amazing pow'r of love !)
Receiv'd it in his heart.
4 No more, O grim destroyer, boast
Thy universal sway;
To heav'n-born souls thy sting is lost,
Thy night is turn’d to day.
5 Lord, I commit my soul to thee,
Accept the sacred trust; Receive this noble part of me,
And watch my sleeping dust:
6 Till that illustrious morning come,
When all thy saints shall rise,
And, cloth'd in full immortal bloom,
Attend thee to the skies.
HYMN 360. C. M.
The Death and Burial of a Saint.
NHY do we mourn departing friends?
V Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms.
2 Are we not tending upwards too,
As fast as time can move ?
Nor would we wish the hours more slow,
To keep us from our love..
3 Why shonld we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb ?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.
4 The graves of all his saints he bless'd,
And soften'd ev'ry bed:
Where should the dying members rest,
But with the dying head?
5 Thence he arose, ascending high,
And show'd our feet the way; Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rising day. 6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise ; Awake, ye nations under ground, Ye saints, ascend the skies.
HYMN 361. L. M. The Death of the Sinner and the Saint. P LAHAT scenes of horror and of dread,
V Await the singer's dying bed! Death's terrors all appear in sight, Presages of eternal night.
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