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2 Death is no more the king of dread,

Since our Immanuel rose;
He took the tyrant's sting away,

And spoiled our hellish foes.
3 See how the Conqueror mounts, aloft,

And to his father flies,
With scars of honor in his flesh,

And triumph in his eyes. 4 Bright angels, strike your loudest strings,

Your sweetest voices raise ;
Let heaven, and all created things,

Sound our Immanuel's praise.

577. L. M. KEBLE. Abide with us, for it is towards evening.1 'Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze,

Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight

The last faint pulse of quivering light. 2 Sun of my soul! thou Saviour dear!

It is not night if thou be near:
O may no earth-born cloud arise

To hide thee from thy servant's eyes. 3 When the soft dews of kindly sleep My wearied eyelids gently steep,

last thought, how sweet to rest
Forever on my Saviour's breast.
4 Abide with me from morn till eve,

For without thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without thee I dare not die.

Be my

578. L. M. Watts.

Salvation by Christ. Ps. 85. 1 Salvation is forever nigh

The souls that fear and trust the Lord; And grace, descending from on high,

Fresh hopes of glory shall afford.
2 Now truth and honor shall abound;

Religion dwell on earth again,
And heavenly influence bless the ground

In our Redeemer's gentle reign. 3 His righteousness is gone before,

To give us free access to God;
Our wandering feet shall stray no more,
But mark his steps and keep the road.

579. L. M. 61. WESLEY.

Helpless, yet happy.
1 0 Thou, whose wise, paternal love

Hath brought my active vigor down,
Thy choice I thankfully approve,
And, prostrate at thy gracious throne,
I offer up my life's remains,

I choose the state my God ordains. 2 Cast as a broken vessel by,

Thy will I can no longer do;
Yet while a daily death I die,
Thy power I may in weakness show;
My patience may thy glory raise,
My speechless woe proclaim thy praise.

580. C. M.

WATTS.
Sick-bed Devotion. Ps. 39.
1 God of my life, look gently down;

Behold the pains I feel;
But I am dumb before thy throne,

Nor dare dispute thy will.
2 Diseases are thy servants, Lord;

They come at thy command;
I'll not attempt a murmuring word

Against thy chastening hand. 3 I’m but a sojourner below,

As all my fathers were ;
May I be well prepared to go,

When I the summons hear.
,4 But if my life be spared awhile,

Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my business still,

And I'll declare thy love.

581. P. M. ANONYMOUS.

Devotion and Virtue. 1 Save me from my foes,

Shield me, Lord, from harm,
Let me safe repose

On thy mighty arm.
Thou art God alone;

Those who seek thy heavenly face,
Thou wilt bless, and they shall own

Thy matchless grace.

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2 Pleasant is the land

Where Jehovah's known,
Where a pious band

Bow before his throne,
Who, with loud acclaim,

Sing his great and wondrous love,
Who ere long shall praise his name

With saints above. 3 Let my faith and love

With my years increase;
Let me never rove

From the paths of peace;
But through life display

Holy deeds and actions pure,
That, when life has passed away,

May bliss be sure.

582.

L. M. Watts. Man's Mortality and God's Eternity. Ps. 102. 1 It is the Lord our Father's hand

Weakens our strength amidst the race:
Disease and death, at his command,

Arrest us and cut short our days. 2 Spare us, O Lord, aloud we pray,

Nor let our sun go down at noon;
Thy years are one eternal day,

And must thy children die so soon? 3 Yet, in the midst of death and grief,

This thought our sorrow shall assuage : " Our Father and our Saviour live; God is the same through every age."

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4 ’T was he this earth's foundation laid;

Heaven is the building of his hand;
This earth grows old, these heavens shall fade,

And all be changed at his command. 5 The starry curtains of the sky,

Like garments, shall be laid aside;
But still thy throne stands firm and high ;

Thy church forever must abide.
6 Before thy face thy church shall live,

And on thy throne thy children reign;
This dying world shall they survive,
And the dead saints be raised again.

583.

C. M. WATTS.
Prayer of the Prisoner. Ps. 102.
1 Hear me, O God, nor hide thy face,

But answer lest I die;
Hast thou not built a throne of grace,

To hear when sinners cry?
2 As on some lonely building's top,
The
sparrow

tells lier moan,
Far from the tents of joy and hope,

I sit and grieve alone.
3 My locks liite withered leaves appear;

And life's declining light
Grows faint, as evening shadows are,

That vanish into night.
4 But thou forever art the same,

O my eternal God ;
Ages to come shall know thy name,

And spread thy works abroad.

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