And in desponding accents said,
Ah, what must Israel do!'
But he forgot the Lord who lifts
The beggar to his throne;
Nor knew, that all Elijah's gifts
Would soon be made his own.
What! when a Paul has run his course,
Or when Apollos dies,
Is Israel left without resource?
And have we no supplies?
Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives,
We have a boundless store,
And shall be fed with what he gives,
Who lives for evermore.
439. Death of a Believer.
HOSSANNA to Jesus on high!
Another has enter'd his rest;
Another has 'scap'd to the sky,
And lodg'd in Immanuel's breast:
The soul of our brother is gone
To heighten the triumph above;
Exalted to Jesus's throne!
Exalted by Jesus's love!
How happy the angels that fall
Transported at Jesus's name!
The saints, whom he soonest shall call,
To share in the feast of the Lamb!
No longer imprison'd in clay,
Who next from this dungeon shall fly?
Who first shall be summon'd away?
My merciful God!-Is it I?
440. Prospect of Death.
DEATH cannot make my soul afraid,
If God be with me there;
Soft is the passage through the shade,
And all the prospect fair.
Might I but climb to Pisgah's top,
And view the promis'd land,
My soul would long her flesh to drop, for the command.
I would renounce my all below,
If my Creator bid;
And run if I were call'd to go,
And die as Moses did.
Jesus, the vision of thy face
Hath overpow'ring charms:
Scarce shall I feel death's cold embrace,
If Christ be in my arms.
Swift to the place of pure delight,
Where saints triumphant reign;
My soul shall wing her joyful flight,
From sorrow, sin, and pain.
There everlasting spring abides.
And never-with'ring flow'rs:
Death, like a narrow stream, divides
This heav'nly land from our's.
Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood,
Stand dress'd in living green:
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan roll'd between.
O could I make my fears remove,
Those gloomy fears that rise;
And see the Canaan, which I love,
With unbeclouded eyes!
Could I but climb where Moses stood,
And view the lanscape o'er;
Nor death's dark vale, or icy flood,
Should fright me from the shore.
Clasp'd in my heav'nly Father's arms,
I would forget to breathe;
And lose my life amidst the charms
Of so divine a death.
THERE is a house not made with hands,
Eternal and on high:
And here my spirit waiting stands,
Till God shall bid it fly.
Shortly this prison of my clay
Must be dissolv'd and fall;
Then, O my soul, with joy obey
Thy heav'nly Father's call.
'Tis he, by his almighty grace,
That forms thee fit for heav'n;
And, as an earnest of the place,
Has his own Spirit giv'n.
We walk by faith of joys to come;
Faith lives upon his word;
But while the body is our home,
We're absent from the Lord.
'Tis pleasant to believe thy grace,
But we had rather see;
We would be absent from the flesh,
And present, Lord, with thee.
WHEN blooming youth is snatch'd away,
By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,
Which pity must demand.
While pity prompts the rising sigh,
O may this truth, imprest
With awful pow'r-I too must die-
Sink deep in ev'ry breast.
Let this vain world engage no more!
Behold the gaping tomb!
It bids us seize the present hour;
To-morrow death may come.
The voice of this alarming scene
May ev'ry heart obey,
Nor be the heav'nly warning vain,
Which calls to watch and pray.
O let us fly, to Jesus fly,
Whose pow'rful arm can save,
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,
And triumph o'er the grave.
Great God, thy sov'reign grace impart, With cleansing, healing pow'r;
This only can prepare the heart,
For death's tremendous hour.
WHILE to the grave our friends are borne,
Their last, their cold remains,
How all the tender passions mourn,
And each fond heart complains.
But down to earth, alas! in vain
We bend our weeping eyes!
Ah! let us leave these seats of pain,
And upward learn to rise.
Hope, cheerful, smiling thro' the gloom,
Beams forth a healing ray;
And guides us from the darksome tomb
To everlasting day!
Jesus, who left his blest abode,
(Amazing grace!) to die,
Mark'd, when he rose, the shining road
To his bright courts on high.
To those bright courts, where hope ascends,
The tears forget to flow;
Hope views our absent happy friends,
And calms the swelling woe.
Then let our hearts repine no more,
That earthly comfort dies;
But lasting happiness explore,
And ask it from the skies.
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