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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.


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.


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



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.

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.

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 !


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.


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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