what dark prospects we may see,

When his black banners death shall rear? 3 Well, should the tyrant death display His fiercest form when we pass o'er,` Our skilful guide knows all the way, From Jordan's brink to Canaan's shore. 4 Yes, the Redeemer once was dead!

And, when he pass'd the gloomy grave, Death's blackest waves roll'd o'er his head, That we might know his power to save. 5 Jesus has conquer'd death for us, When his dark mansions he pass'd thro' He to a blessing turn'd the curse, And we shall triumph o'er him too.

CCCCXI.

OFT

L. M. BALT. COL.

The Tolling Bell.

FT as the bell, with solemn toll,
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 But could I bear to hear him say,
"Depart, accursed, far away!
With Satan, in the lowest hell,

Thou art for ever doom'd to dwell.”

5 Lord Jesus! help me now to flee,
And seek my hope alone in thee;
Apply thy blood, thy spirit give,
Subdue my sin, and let me live.
6 Then when the solemn bell I hear,
Secure from wrath, I need not fear;
Nor would the thought distressing be
Perhaps it next may toll for me.
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.

CCCCXII.

L. M. WATTS.

Christ's presence makes death easy.

WH

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.

2 The pains, the groans, and dying strife, Fright our approaching souls away; Still we shrink back again to life,

Fond of our prison and our clay. SO! if my Lord would come and meet,

My soul should stretch her wings in haste, Fly fearless through death's iron gate, Nor feel the terrors as she pass'd.

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.

CCCCXIII. C. M.

WATTS.

Moses dying in the embraces of God.
EATH cannot make our souls afraid,
If God be with us there;

DEAT

We may walk through its darkest shade,
And never yield to fear.

2 I could renounce my all below,
If my creator bid;

And run, if I were call'd to go
And die as Moses did.

8 Might I but climb to Pisgah's top,
Ånd view the promis'd land,
My flesh itself would long to drop,
And pray for the command.

4 Clasp'd in my heav'nly father's arms,
I would forget my breath,

And lose my life among the charms
Of so divine a death.

RESURRECTION.

CCCCXIV. C.M. RIPPON'S SEL. The bodies of the Saints quickened and raised by the Spirit. Rom. viii. 11.

1 WHY should our murmuring thoughts delight

To grovel in the dust?

Or why should streams of tears unite
Around th' expiring just ?

2 Did not the Lord our Saviour die,
And triumph o'er the grave?
Did not our Lord ascend on high,
And prove his power to save?

3 Doth not the sacred Spirit come,
And dwell in all the saints ?
And should the temples of his grace
Resound with long complaints?

4 Awake, my soul, and like the sun
Burst through each sable cloud;
And thou, my voice, tho' broke with sighs,
Tune forth thy songs aloud.

5 The Spirit rais'd my Saviour up,
When he had bled for me;
And, spite of death and hell, shall raise
Thy pious friends and thee.
6 Awake, ye saints, that dwell in dust,
Your hymns of victory sing;

And let his dying servants trust
Their ever living King.

CCCCXV. C. M. WATTS'S LYRIC POEMS.
A Prospect of the Resurrection.

1 HOW long shall death the tyrant reign, And triumph o'er the just;

While the rich blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled in the dust?

2 Lo, I behold the scatter'd shades,
The dawn of heaven appears;
The sweet immortal morning spreads.
Its blushes round the spheres.

3 I see the Lord of glory come,
And flaming guards around;
The skies divide to make him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.

I hear the voice, "Ye dead arise!"
And lo the graves obey :

And waking saints with joyful eyes
Salute th' expected day.

5 They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to the midway-air,

In shining garments meet their King,
And low adore him there.

6 O may our humble spirits stand
Among them cloth'd in white!
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight.

7 How will our joy and wonder rise,
When our returning King

Shall bear us homeward through the skies,
On love's triumphant wing!

DAY OF JUDGMENT.

CCCCXVI. L. M. Angel's Hymn Tune.
DAVIES,

Sinners and Saints in the Wreck of Nature.
Isaiah xxiv. 18-20.

HOW great, how terrible that God

Who shakes creation with his nod?

He frowns-earth, sea, all nature's frame
Sink in one universal flame.

2 Where now, O where shall sinners seek
For shelter in the general wreck?
Shall falling rocks be o'er them thrown?
See rocks, like snow, dissolving down!
3 In vain for mercy now they cry;
In lakes of liquid fire they lie;
There on the flaming billows tost,
For ever-O! for ever lost.