2 Hark! they whisper; angels say—
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
3 The world recedes; it disappears;
Heaven opens on mine eyes; mine ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings; I mount, I fly;
O Grave! where is thy victory ?
O Death! where is thy sting?
806 Absent from the body, and...present with the
BSENT from flesh! O blissful thought!
What joys unknown this moment brings;
Freed from the mischiefs sin hath wrought,
From pains and fears, and all their springs.
2 Absent from flesh! illustrious day,
Surprising scene, triumphant stroke,
That rends the prison of my clay,
And I can feel my fetters broke.
3 Absent from flesh! then rise, my soul,
Where feet nor wings could ever climb;
Beyond the heavens, where planets roll,
Measuring the cares and joys of time.
4 I go where God and glory shine;
His presence makes eternal day;
My all that's mortal I resign,
807 Devout men carried Stephen to his burial, and
made great lamentation over him.-Acts viii. 2.
I UST friends and kindred droop and die,
And helpers be withdrawn?
While sorrow with a weeping eye
Counts up our comforts gone?
2 Be Thou our comfort, mighty God!
Our helper and our friend;
Nor leave us in this dangerous road
Till all our trials end.
3 O may our feet pursue the way
Our pious fathers led,
With love and holy zeal obey
The counsels of the dead.
4 Let us be weaned from all below,
Let hope our grief expel,
While death invites our souls to go
Where our best kindred dwell.
808 The dead that die in the Lord.—Rev. xiv. 13.
EAR what the voice from heaven proclaims
For all the pious dead;
Sweet is the savour of their names,
And soft their sleeping bed.
2 They die in Jesus and are blest;
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 labours of their mortal life
End in a large reward.
809 That ye sorrow not, even as others which have
no hope.-1 Thess. iv. 13.
BLFay we, gracious God, to' Thee;
LESSING, honour, thanks, and praise,
Thou, in Thine abundant grace,
Givest us the victory.
True and faithful to Thy word,
Thou hast glorified Thy Son,
Jesus Christ, our dying Lord,
He for us the fight hath won.
2 Lo! the prisoner is released,
Lightened of his fleshly load;
Where the weary are at rest,
He is gathered into God!
Lo! the pain of life is past,
All his warfare now is o'er;
Death and hell behind are cast,
Grief and suffering are no more.
3 Yes, the Christian's course is run,
Ended is the glorious strife;
Fought the fight, the work is done,
Death is swallowed up of life!
Borne by angels on their wings,
Far from earth the spirit flies,
Finds his God, exults and sings,
Triumphing in Paradise.
4 Join we then, with one accord,
In the new, the joyful song:
Absent from our loving Lord
We shall not continue long :
We shall quit the house of clay,
We a better lot shall share;
We shall see the realms of day,
Meet our happy brother there.
5 We will not bewail our dead,
Fondly of their loss complain;
Brother, friend, by Jesus freed,
Death to thee, to us, is gain ;
Thou art entered into joy;
Why should we thy triumph mourn ;
We in songs our lives employ,
Till we all to God return.
Fallen asleep in Christ.—1 Cor. xv. 18.
THY do we mourn departing friends,
Or shake at Death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends
To call them to His arms.
2 Are we not tending upward, too,
As fast as time can move?
Nor would we wish the hours more slow
To keep us from our Love.
3 The graves of all His saints He blęst,
And softened every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
But with their dying Head?
4 Thence He arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rising day.
5 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye saints, ascend the skies.
811 They...platted a crown of thorns, and put it
on His head.-Matthew xxvii. 29.
SACRED head, once wounded,
With grief and pain weighed down,
How scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thine only crown !
How pale art Thou with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!
2 O Lord of life and glory,
What bliss till now was Thine!
I read the wondrous story,
I joy to call Thee mine.
Thy grief and Thy compassion
Were all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
3 What language shall I borrow
To praise Thee, heavenly Friend;
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
Lord, make me Thine for ever,
Nor let me faithless prove;
O let me never, never
Abuse such dying love!
4 Be near me, Lord, when dying;
O show Thy cross to me;
And, for my succour flying,
Come, Lord, to set me free;
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From Jesus shall not move;
For He who dies believing
Dies safely through Thy love.
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