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3 'Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave;

He gives, and, blessed be his name!
He takes but what he gave.

4 Peace, all our angry passions, then;
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sovereign will,
And every murmur die.

5 If smiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread;
And we'll adore the justice too
That strikes our comforts dead.

457.

L. M.

DODDRIDGE.

Weeping Seed-time, joyful Harvest. Ps. 126.

1 THE darkened sky, how thick it lowers!
Troubled with storms, and big with showers;
No cheerful gleam of light appears,
But nature pours forth all her tears.

2 Yet, let the sons of grace revive;
God bids the soul that seeks him live;
And from the gloomiest shade of night
Calls forth a morning of delight.

3 The seeds of ecstasy unknown
Are in these watered furrows sown;
See the green blades, how thick they rise,
And with fresh verdure bless our eyes.

4 In secret foldings they contain
Unnumbered ears of golden grain;
And heaven shall pour its beams around,
Till the ripe harvest load the ground.

5 Then shall the trembling mourner come, And bind his sheaves, and bear them home; The voice long broke with sighs shall sing, Till heaven with hallelujahs ring.

458. 8, 7 & 4s. M.

Support in Death.

MRS. GILBERT.

1 WHEN the vale of death appears,
Faint and cold this mortal clay,
O my Father, soothe my fears,
Light me through this darksome way:
Break the shadows,

Usher in eternal day.

2 Starting from this dying state,
Upward bid my soul aspire;
Open thou the crystal gate,
To thy praise attune my lyre:
Dwell forever,

Dwell on each immortal wire.

3 From the sparkling turrets there,
Oft I'll trace my pilgrim way,
Often bless thy guardian care,
Fire by night, and cloud by day;
While my triumphs

At my Leader's feet I lay.

459.

C. M.

DODDRIDGE.

God the everlasting Light.

1 YE golden lamps of heaven! farewell,
With all your feeble light:

Farewell, thou ever-changing moon,
Pale empress of the night!

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

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

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

The pavement of those heavenly courts,
Where I shall reign with 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;

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

460.

L. M.

S. WESLEY.

The Young cut off in their Prime.

1 THE morning flowers display their sweets,
And gay, their silken leaves unfold,
As careless of the noontide heats,
As fearless of the evening cold.

2 Nipt by the wind's untimely blast,
Parched by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,
The short-lived beauties die away.

3 So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows:
Fairer than spring the colors shine,
And sweeter than the virgin rose.
4 Or worn by slowly-rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,
The short-lived beauties die away.

* 5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine;
Revive with ever-during bloom,
Safe from diseases and decline.

6 Let sickness blast, let death devour,
If heaven must recompense our pains:
Perish the grass, and fade the flower,
If firm the word of God remains.

461.

C. M.

DODDRIDGE.

Departed Saints living to God.

1 THRICE happy state, where saints shall live Around their Father's throne,

In every joy that heaven can give,
And live to God alone!

2 Unnumbered bands of kindred minds,
That dwelt in feeble clay,
Us and our woes have left behind,
To reign in endless day.

3 Immortal vigor now they breathe,
And all the air is peace;

They chide our tears, that mourn the death
Which brought their souls release.

4 Thus shall the grace of Christ prevail,
Till all his chosen meet;

And not the meanest servant fail
His household to complete.

5 To that blest goal with ardent haste
Our active souls would tend;
Nor feel their sorrows, as they passed
To such a blissful end.

462.

L. M.

DODDRIDGE.

Comfort on the Death of pious Friends.

1 TRANSPORTING tidings which we hear!
What music to the pious ear!

Christ loves each humble saint so well,
He with his Lord shall ever dwell.

2 O happy dead, in thee that sleep,

While o'er their mouldering dust we weep!
O faithful Saviour, who shall come
That dust to ransom from the tomb!

3 While thine unerring word imparts
So rich a cordial to our hearts,

Through tears our triumphs shall be shown,
Though round their graves, and near our own.

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Blessed are the Dead who die in the Lord.

1 HEAR what the voice from heaven proclaims

For all the pious dead;

Sweet is the savor of their names,
And soft their sleeping bed.

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