3 'Tis God that lifts our comforts high, He gives, and, blessed be his name! 4 Peace, all our angry passions, then; 5 If smiling mercy crown our lives, 457. L. M. DODDRIDGE. Weeping Seed-time, joyful Harvest. Ps. 126. 1 THE darkened sky, how thick it lowers! 2 Yet, let the sons of grace revive; 3 The seeds of ecstasy unknown 4 In secret foldings they contain 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, Usher in eternal day. 2 Starting from this dying state, Dwell on each immortal wire. 3 From the sparkling turrets there, At my Leader's feet I lay. 459. C. M. DODDRIDGE. God the everlasting Light. 1 YE golden lamps of heaven! farewell, Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, 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 The pavement of those heavenly courts, 4 The Father of eternal light Shall there his beams display; 5 No more the drops of piercing grief Nor the meridian sun decline, 6 There all the millions of his saints And each the bliss of all shall view 460. L. M. S. WESLEY. The Young cut off in their Prime. 1 THE morning flowers display their sweets, 2 Nipt by the wind's untimely blast, 3 So blooms the human face divine, * 5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb, 6 Let sickness blast, let death devour, 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, 2 Unnumbered bands of kindred minds, 3 Immortal vigor now they breathe, They chide our tears, that mourn the death 4 Thus shall the grace of Christ prevail, And not the meanest servant fail 5 To that blest goal with ardent haste 462. L. M. DODDRIDGE. Comfort on the Death of pious Friends. 1 TRANSPORTING tidings which we hear! Christ loves each humble saint so well, 2 O happy dead, in thee that sleep, While o'er their mouldering dust we weep! 3 While thine unerring word imparts Through tears our triumphs shall be shown, 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, |