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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

n.

463.

C. M. Watts. 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 narnes,

And soft their sleeping bed.

2 They die in Jesus, and are blessed :

How kind their slumbers are ! From sufferings and from sins released,

And freed from every snare. 3 Far from this world of toil and strife,

They're present with the Lord ! The labors of their mortal life

End in a large reward.

464. S. M.

WILSON.
I heard a Voice from Heaven.
1 I HEARD a voice from heaven

Say, "Blessed is the doom
Of those whose trust is in the Lord,

When sinking to the tomb !” 2 The Holy Spirit spake

And I the words repeat-
"Blessed are they”-for, after toil,

To mortals rest is sweet.

465.
L. M.

Mrs. BARBAULD. The Righteous blessed in Death. 1 How blessed the righteous when he dies !

When sinks a weary soul to rest,
How mildly beam the closing eyes,

How gently heaves the expiring breast ! 2 So fades a summer cloud away,

So sinks the gale wlien storms are o'er,
So gently shuts the eye of day,
So dies a wave along the shore.

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 the unchanging morn appears

Farewell, inconstant world, farewell! 5 Life's duty done, as sinks the clay,

Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say, “How blessed the righteous when he dies !

!

466. C. M. J. NEWTON.

The Death of a Believer.
1 In vain our fancy strives to paint

The moment after death,
The glories that surround ihe saints,

When yielding up their breath.
2 One gentle sigh their fetters breaks !

We

e scarce can say, “They're gone !” Before the willing spirit takes

Her mansion near the throne.
3 Faith strives, but all its efforts fail

To trace her in its flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil

Which hides that world of light.
4 Thus much, and this is all we know,

They are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest.

5 On harps of gold they praise his name,

His face they always view; Then let us followers be of them,

That we may praise him too.

467. C. M. DODDRIDGE.

Near Approach of Salvation. 1 AWAKE, ye saints, and raise your eyes,

And raise your voices high; Awake, and praise that sovereign love,

That shows salvation nigh. 2 On all the wings of time it flies;

Each moment brings it near; Then welcome each declining day!

Welcome each closing year! 3 Not many years their round shall run,

Not many mornings rise,
Ere all its glories stand revealed

To our admiring eyes. 4 Ye wheels of nature, speed your course;

Ye mortal powers, decay;
Fast as ye bring the night of death,

Ye bring eternal day.

468. L. M. J. Newton.

Home in View.
1 Aš when the weary traveller gains

The height of some o'erlooking hill,
His heart revives, if 'cross the plains
He eyes his home, though distant still:

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