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557. 78. M. 61. CHRISTIAN PSALMIST.

For Saturday Evening.
1 SAFELY through another week

God has brought us on our way;
Let us now a blessing seek
On the approaching Sabbath day;
Day of all the week the best,

Emblem of eternal rest.
2 Mercies multiplied, each hour,

Through the week our praise demand;
Guarded by thy mighty power,
Fed and guided by thy hand.
From our worldly care set free,

May we rest this night with thee.
3 When the morn shall bid us rise,

May we feel thy pleasure near;
May thy glory meet our eyes,
When we in thy house appear;
Blest
may

all our Sabbaths prove,
Till we join the church above.

558.

10s. M. MONTGOMERY.

Death of a Minister in his Prime.
1 Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,

In full activity of zeal and power;
A Christian cannot die before his time,

The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour. 2 Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease;

Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest task is done; Come from the heat of battle, and in peace, Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.

3 Go to the grave, for there thy Saviour lay

In death's embraces, ere he rose on high;
And all the ransomed, by that narrow way,

Pass to eternal life beyond the sky. 4 Go to the grave:-no, take thy seat above;

Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord,
Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love,
And open vision for the written word.

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559. S. M. MONTGOMERY.

On the Death of an aged Minister.
1 Servant of God, well done!

Rest from thy loved employ;
The battle fought, the victory won,

Enter thy Master's joy.
2 The voice at midnight camne,

He started up to hear;
A mortal arrow pierced his frame-

He fell, but felt no fear.
3. Tranquil amidst alarms,

It found him on the field,
A veteran slumbering on his arins,

Beneath his red-cross shield.
4 The pains of death are past;

Labor and sorrow cease;
And, life's long warfare closed at last,

His soul is found in peace.
Ő Soldier of Christ, well done!

Praise be thy new employ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest in thy Saviour's joy.

560. 78. M. ANONYMOUS.

Funeral Hymn.
1 Clay to clay, and dust to dust!

Let them mingle-for they must!
Give to earth the earthly clod,

For the spirit's fled to God. 2 Never more shall midnight's damp

Darken round this mortal lamp;
Never more shall noonday's glance

Search this mortal countenance. 3 Deep the pit, and cold the bed,

Where the spoils of death are laid :
Stiff the curtains, chill the gloom,

Of man's melancholy tomb.
4 Look aloft! The spirit's risen-

Death cannot the soul imprison :
'Tis in heaven that spirits dwell,

Glorious, though invisible.
5 Thither let us turn our view;

Peace is there, and comfort too :
There shall those we loved be found,
Tracing joy's eternal round.

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SUPPLEMENTARY HYMNS,

BY REV. MR. GREENWOOD.

561. S. P. M. Warts.

Going to Church. Ps. 122. 1 How pleased and blest was I To hear the people cry,

“Come, let us seek our God to-day!” Yes, with a cheerful zeal, We haste to Zion's hill,

And there our vows and honors pay. 2 Zion, thrice happy place, Adorned with wondrous grace,

And walls of strength embrace thee round; In thee our tribes appear, To pray, and praise, and hear

The sacred gospel's joyful sound.
3 May peace attend thy gate,
And joy within thee wait,

To bless the soul of every guest;
The man that seeks thy peace,
And wishes thine increase,

A thousand blessings on hinn rest !

562. C. M. Watts.
The Church our Delight and Safety. Ps. 27.
1 The Lord of glory is my light,

And my salvation too;
God is my strength, nor will I fear

What all my foes can do.
2 One privilege my heart desires;

O grant me an abode
Among the churches of thy saints,

The temples of my God.
3 There shall I offer my requests,

Aud see thy beauty still;
Shall hear thy messages of love,

And there inquire thy will. 4 When troubles rise and storins appear,

There may his children hide;
God has a strong pavilion, where

He makes my soul abide.

563. L. M. Watts.

God's Condescension to our Worship.
1 Thy favors, Lord, surprise our souls:

Will the Eternal dwell with us?
What canst thou find beneath the poles,

To tempt thy chariot downward thus? 2 Great God! what poor returns we pay

For love so infinite as thine;
Words are but air, and tongues but clay,
But thy compassion 's all divine.

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