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5 God of our fathers ! hear,

Thou everlasting Friend!-
While we, as on life's utmost verge,

Our souls to thee coinmend.
6 Of all the pious dead

May we the footsteps trace,
Till with them, in the land of light,

We dwell before thy face.

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HYMN 624, L. M. 624

Death of the Righteous.
1 ITOW blest the righteous when he dies --

When sinks a weary soul to rest !
How mildly beam the closing eyes !

How gently heaves th' expiring breast! тр 2 So fades a summer cloud away;

So sinks a gale when storms are o'er;

So gently shuts the eye of day; P

So dies a wave along the shore.
INP 3 A holy quiet reigns around,--

A calm which life nor death destroys;
Nothing disturbs that peace profound,

Which his unfettered soul enjoys.
4 Farewell, conflicting hopes and fears !

Where lights and shades alternate dwell:
How bright th' unchanging morn appears !

Farewell, inconstant world! farewell! 5 Life's duty done, as sinks the clay,

Light from its load the spirit flies; mit

While heaven and earth combine to say,

“How blest the righteous when he dies !"

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HYMN 625, 8s and 78. 625

The dying Saint comforted.
mf 1 HAPPY soull thy days are ending,

All thy mourning days below:
Go, the angel guards attending-

To the sight of Jesus go!
Waiting to receive thy spirit,

Lo! the Saviour stands above;
Shows the fullness of his merit-

Reaches out the crown of love.

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2 For the joy he sets before thee,

Bear a momentary pain;
Die-to live a life of glory;

Suffer--with thy Lord to reign :
Struggle, through thy latest passion,

To thy dear Redeemer's breast,-
To his uttermost salvation, -

To his everlasting rest.



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HYMN 626, 7s and 4. 626

Support in Death.
THEN the vale of death appears,

Faint and cold this mortal clay,-
Kind Forerunner! soothe my fears,

Light me through the darksome way;
Break the shadows,-

Usher in eternal day.
2 Upward from this dying state,

Bid my waiting soul aspire ;

Open thou the crystal gate; mf To thy praise attune my lyre : f

Then, triumphant,

I will join th' immortal choir.
3 When the mighty trumpet, blown,

Shall the judginent dawn proclaim,
From the central, burning throne,

Mid creation's final flame,
With the ransomed,-

Thou wilt own my worthless name.


HYMN 627, C. M. 627

Mourning with Hope. aft 1 THAT once-loved form, now cold and dead,

Each mournful thought employs;
And nature weeps, her comforts fled,

And withered all her joys.
2 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,

When what we now deplore
Shall rise, in full immortal prime,

And bloom to fade no more.
3 Then cease, fond nature ! cease thy tears,

Religion points on high;


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So soon our transient comforts fly,

And pleasure only blooms to die. art 2 Is there no kind,--no lenient art,

To heal the anguish of the heart?
Spirit of grace! be ever nigh,

Thy comforts are not made to die.
3 Bid gentle patience smile on pain,

Till dying hope shall live again;

Hope wipes the tear froin sorrow's eye, mif And faith points upward to the sky.

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HYMN 629, C. M. 629

The Grave peacefui.
1 W still and peaceful is the grave,

Where,---life's vain tumults past,
Th' appointed house, by heaven's decree,

Receives us all at last!
2 The wicked there from troubling cease,

Their passions rage no more;
And there, the weary pilgrim rests

From all the toils he bore.
3 All, leveled by the hand of death,

Lie sleeping in the tomb,
Till God, in judgment, call them forth,

To meet their final doom.


HYMN 630, C. M. 630

Prospect of Death. mp Y soul! come, meditate the day,

And think, how near it stands, When thou must quit this house of clay,

And fly to unknown lands.
2 And you, my eyes! look down and vierr

The hollow gaping tomb;
This gloomy prison waits for you,

Whene'er the sunimons come.


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aft 3 Oh! could we die with those that die,

And place us in their stead;
Then would our spirits learn to fly,

And converse with the dead.
4 Then should we see the saints above,
mf In their own glorious forms,

And wonder, why our souls should love

To dwell with mortal worms.
5 We should almost forsake our clay,

Before the summons come,

And pray, and wish our souls away, mf

To their eternal home.

HYMN 631, 8s and 7s. 631

The Spirit of a dying Christian, < 1

PARTING soul! the flood awaits thee, mf

And the billows round thee roar;
Yet rejoice,—the holy city

Stands on yon celestial shore.
2 There, are crowns and thrones of glory,

There, the living waters glide;
There, the just in shining raiment,

Standing by Immanuel's side. if 3 Linger not,—the stream is narrow,

Though its cold dark waters rise;
He, who passed the flood before thee,

Guides thy path to yonder skies.


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HYMN 632, L. M. 632

Death disarmed. 1 HY should we start, and fear to die?

What tim'rous worms we mortals are Death is the gate of endless joy,

And yet we dread to enter there.
mp 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,



WHY do we mourn departing friends,


HYMN 633, C. M.

Comfort in the Death of Friends.

Or shake at death's alarms?
'T is 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 should we wish the hours more slow,

To keep us from our love.
3 Why should we tremble, to convey

Their bodies to the tomb ?
dor There, the dear flesh of Jesus lay,

And left a long perfume.
4 The graves of all the saints he blessed,

And softened every bed :
Where should the dying members rest,

But with their dying Head?
5 Thence he arose, ascended high,

And showed our feet the way;

Up to the Lord his saints shall fly,
mj At the great rising day.
f" 6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,

And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground!

Ye saints! ascend the skies.

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HYMN 634, C. M. 634

Silent Submission.

EACE! 't is the Lord Jehovah's hand,

That blasts our joys in death, -
Changes the visage once so dear,

And gathers back our breath.
2 'Tis he, the Potentate supreme

Of all the worlds above,
Whose steady counsels wisely rule,

Nor from their purpose move.

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