5 Oh, let us fly-to Jesus, fly,
Whose powerful arm can save;
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,
And triumph o'er the grave.
6 Great God! thy sovereign grace impart,
With cleansing, healing power;
This only can prepare the heart
For death's surprising hour.
Death or removal of a Pastor.
FATHER, we bow before thy throne,
With hearts opprest with grief;
Our pastor's gone-we 're left alone,
Where shall we find relief?
2 Thy word he faithfully proclaim'd,
His doctrine from it drew;
Regardless whether prais'd or blamed,
So he thy will might do.
3 Nor did he merely preach alone,
Obedience mark'd his way?
His holy life, as well as tongue,
Inclin❜d to endless day.
4 We feel the loss of such a guide,
And now before thy throne,
We pray his loss may be supplied.
Supplied by thee alone.
5 Give us a pastor in his room,
To wipe our falling tears;
And guide, and guard us safely on,
From all our rising fears.
504. L. M. Daniel's Selection.
The death of a Minister
IS death we mourn, who lately stood
A herald of the mighty God;
Proclaim'd the Saviour of our race,
And bore the message of his grace.
2 Laborious in his Master's cause;
His view, nor lucre nor applause;
To spend and to be spent resign'd,
If souls through Christ salvation find.
3 With pointed language, flaming zeal,
He to the conscience did appeal;
With terror sought the soul to move,
Or draw it with the cords of love.
4 But all his labours now are o'er,
And we shall hear his voice no more:
His dust lies silent in the tomb;
He's gone to heaven, his final home.
5 Jesus! though earthly shepherds die,
Do thou thy churches still supply
With gifts, instruction to impart-
Pastors according to thy heart.
505. C. M. J. Saunders.
The flock approaching the Shepherd's tomb.
WITH holy awe, and solemn dread,
Approach the silent tomb!
Your shepherd lies beneath the shade
Of death's tremendous gloom!
2 How gentle was the stroke divine,
Which bow'd his head in death!
How peaceful did his soul resign
His friends, his life, his breath!
3 E'en death to him is endless gain;
Though we are left to mourn:
Shepherd divine! thy flock sustain,
Nor leave thy fold forlorn.
4 Display thy pardoning, healing grace;
Assuage our rising grief;
Reveel thy smiling, cheering face,
And grant us sweet relief.
5 Give us to kiss the painful rod,
Nor at thy will repine,-
"Be still, and know that thou art God,'To all thy will resign.
6 Furnish thy church from shore to shore,
With gospel truth and grace;
And, while we thus our loss deplore,
E'en here thy flock increase.
506. L. M. Altered.
Death discloses the unknown world.
BY faint and glimmering light we view
The unknown world we're hastening to;
God has lock'd up the mystic page,
And curtain'd darkness round the stage.
2 We talk of heaven, we talk of hell;
But what can men or angels tell?
Whether we will or not, we must
Take the succeeding world on trust.
3 Death soon to our astonish'd sight,
Eternal things will bring to light;
The curtain, none but he can raise,
Nor he, till God our sovereign please.
4 If we in Christ the Lord believe,
We shall eternal joys receive;
But if we spurn his sacred name,
We sink, we burn in quenchless flame.
507. S. M. Watts.
The resurrection of the body.
AND must this body die?
This mortal frame decay?
And must these active limbs of mine
Lie mouldering in the clay ?
Corruption, earth, and worms,
Shall but refine this flesh,
my triumphant spirit comes
it on afresh.
God my Redeemer lives,
And often from the skies,
Looks down, and watches all my dust,
Till he shall bid it rise.
Array'd in glorious grace,
Shall these vile bodies shine,
And every shape, and every face,
Look heavenly and divine.
These lively hopes we owe
To Jesus' dying love;
We would adore his grace below,
And sing his power above.
Dear Lord, accept the praise
Of these our humble songs,
Till tunes of nobler sound we raise
With our immortal tongues.
The Certainty and Awfulness of Judgment.
HAT awful day will surely come,
The appointed hour makes haste,
When I must stand before my Judge,
And pass the solemn test.
2 Thou lovely Chief of all my joys,
Thou Sovereign of my heart,
How could I bear to hear thy voice
Pronounce the sound-depart!
3 The thunder of that dismal word
Would so distress mine ear,
"T would tear my soul asunder, Lord,
With most tormenting fear.
4 Jesus, I throw my arms around,
And hang upon thy breast;
Without a gracious smile from thee,
My spirit cannot rest.
5 0, tell me that my worthless name
Is graven on thy hands!
Show me some promise in thy book,
Where my salvation stands.
509. L. M. Relief Hymns.
HE Lord shall come-a glorious form,
On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Appointed Judge of all mankind.
2 Can this be he who wont to stray
As pilgrim on the world's highway,
Opprest by power, and mock'd by pride,
The Nazarene-the crucified?
3 While sinners in despair shall call,
Rocks, hide us-mountains, on us fall!
The saints, ascending from the tomb,
Shall joyful sing-the Lord is come!
The last judgment; or, the saints rewarded.
NHRON'D on a cloud our God shall come,
Bright flames prepare his way,
Thunder and darkness, fire and storm,
Lead on the dreadful day.
2 Heaven from above his call shall hear,
Attending angels come,
And earth and hell shall know and fear,
His justice, and their doom.
3 But gather all my saints,' he cries,
That made their peace with God,
'By the Redeemer's sacrifice,
And seal'd it with his blood.
4 Their faith and works, brought forth to light, 'Shall make the world confess 'My sentence of reward is right, "And heaven adore the grace.'
511. L. M. Watts.
Happy resurrection.
LET worms devour my wasting flesh,
And crumble all my bones to dust,
My God shall raise my frame afresh,
At the revival of the just.
|