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4 Jesus can make a dying bed

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Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.

HYMN 633, C. M.

Comfort in the Death of Friends.

WHY we at dente alarms?
THY do we mourn departing friends,

'Tis 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?

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,
At the great rising day.

f" 6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;

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Awake, ye nations under ground!
Ye saints! ascend the skies.

HYMN 634, C. M.

Silent Submission.

1 PEACE! '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.

3 'T is he, whose justice might demand
Our souls a sacrifice;

Yet scatters, with unwearied hand,
A thousand rich supplies.

4 Our covenant God and Father he,
In Christ, our bleeding Lord;
Whose grace can heal the bursting heart,
With one reviving word.

5 Silent, we own Jehovah's naine,-
We kiss thy chastening hand;
And yield our comforts and our life,
To thy supreme command.

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HYMN 635, C. M.

Triumph over Death.

REAT God! I own the sentence just,
GREAT Goure must decay,

I yield my body to the dust,

To dwell with fellow clay.

2 Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,
And trample on the tombs;

My Jesus, my Redeemer, lives,
My God, my Saviour, comes.

3 The mighty Conqueror shall appear,
High on a royal seat;

And death, the last of all his foes,
Lie vanquished at his feet.

mf 4 Then shall I see thy lovely face,
With strong, immortal eyes;

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And feast upon thine unknown grace,
With pleasure and surprise.

HYMN 636, 12s and 11s.

A Funeral Hymn.

1 THOU art gone to the grave-but we will not deplore thee,

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb;

The Saviour has passed through its portals before thee,

And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.

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2 Thou art gone to the grave--we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may hope, since the Sinless hath died.

3 Thou art gone to the grave—and, its mansion forsaking,

Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lingered long;

But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,

And the sound thou didst hear was the seraphim's song.

4 Thou art gone to the grave-but we will not deplore thee,

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Since God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy guide;

He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee;

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And death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died.

HYMN 637, C. M.

Victory over Death.

HI! for an overcoming faith,
To cheer my dying hours;
To triumph o'er the monster, death,
And all his frightful powers!

2 Joyful, with all the strength I have,
My quivering lips should sing,-
"Where is thy boasted vict'ry, grave?
O death! where is thy sting?"

3 If sin be pardoned, I'm secure;
Death has no sting beside:
The law gives sin its damning power,
But Christ, iny Ranson, died.

4 Now to the God of victory

Immortal thanks be paid;

Who makes us conquerors, while we die,
Through Christ, our living Head.

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HYMN 638, C. M.

The Death of Children.

mourning saints! whose streaming tears Flow o'er your children dead,—

Say not in transports of despair,

That all your hopes are fled.

2 While, cleaving to that darling dust,
In fond distress ye lie,

Rise, and with joy, and reverence, view
A heavenly parent nigh.

3 Though, your young branches torn away,-
Like withered trunks ye stand;
With fairer verdure shall ye bloom,
Touched by th' Almighty's hand.

4 "I'll give the mourner," saith the Lord,
"In my own house a place;
No names of daughters and of sons
Could yield so high a grace.

5 "Transient and vain is every hope
A rising race can give;

In endless honor and delight,

My children all shall live."

6 We welcome, Lord! those rising tears,
Through which thy face we see;

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[hearts,

And bless those wounds which, through our
Prepare a way for thee.

HOW

HYMN 639, L. M.

The Christian's parting Hour.

TOW sweet the hour of closing day,
When all is peaceful and serene;

And the broad sun's retiring ray
Sheds a mild lustre o'er the scene!

2 Such is the Christian's parting hour,→
So peacefully he sinks to rest;

When faith, endued from heaven with power,
Strengthens and cheers his languid breast.

3 Mark but that radiance of his eye,

That smile upon his wasted cheek!
They tell us of his glory nigh,

In language which no tongue can speak.

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4 A beam from heaven is sent to cheer
The pilgrim on his gloomy road;
And angels are attending near,

To bear him to their bright abode.

5 Who would not wish to die, like those Whom God's own Spirit deigns to bless; To sink into that soft repose,

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Then wake to perfect happiness?

HYMN 640, C. M.

The Christian's Farewell.

YE golden lamps of heaven! farewell,
With all your feeble light;
Farewell, thou ever-changing moon!
Pale empress of the night.

2 And thon, refulgent orb of day!
In brighter flames arrayed,-

My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere,
No more demands thy aid.

3 Ye stars are but the shining dust
Of my divine abode,

The pavement of those heavenly courts,
Where I shall see my God.

4 The Father of eternal light

Shall there his beams display;
Nor shall one moment's darkness mix,
With that unvaried day.

5 No more the drops of piercing grief
Shall swell into mine eyes;

Nor the meridian sun decline
Amid those brighter skies.

6 There all the millions of his saints
Shall in one song unite;

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And each the bliss of all shall view,
With infinite delight.

HYMN 641, C. M.

The Moment after Death.

IN vain the fancy strives to paint

The moment after death,

The glories that surround a saint,
When yielding up his breath.