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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,
Wh

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.

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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;

LAVI

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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.
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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.

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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.

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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,

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633

WHY do we mourn departing friends,

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HYMN 633, C. M.

Comfort in the Death of Friends.
1

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,
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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.
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1
PEA
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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