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, 4 But could I bear to hear him say, Thou art for ever doom'd to dwell.” 5 Lord Jesus! help me now to flee, CCCCXII. L. M. WATTS. Christ's presence makes death easy. WH HY should we start and fear to die? 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. DEAT We may walk through its darkest shade, 2 I could renounce my all below, And run, if I were call'd to go 8 Might I but climb to Pisgah's top, 4 Clasp'd in my heav'nly father's arms, And lose my life among the charms 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 2 Did not the Lord our Saviour die, 3 Doth not the sacred Spirit come, 4 Awake, my soul, and like the sun 5 The Spirit rais'd my Saviour up, And let his dying servants trust CCCCXV. C. M. WATTS'S LYRIC POEMS. 1 HOW long shall death the tyrant reign, And triumph o'er the just; While the rich blood of martyrs slain 2 Lo, I behold the scatter'd shades, 3 I see the Lord of glory come, I hear the voice, "Ye dead arise!" And waking saints with joyful eyes 5 They leave the dust, and on the wing In shining garments meet their King, 6 O may our humble spirits stand 7 How will our joy and wonder rise, Shall bear us homeward through the skies, DAY OF JUDGMENT. CCCCXVI. L. M. Angel's Hymn Tune. Sinners and Saints in the Wreck of Nature. HOW great, how terrible that God Who shakes creation with his nod? He frowns-earth, sea, all nature's frame 2 Where now, O where shall sinners seek |