WHY 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. Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.
3. The graves of all his saints he blest,
And softened every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
But with the 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.
UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb!
Take this new treasure to thy trust!
And give these sacred relics room,
To seek a slumber in the dust.
2. Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,
Invade thy bounds-no mortal woes
Can reach the peaceful sleeper here;
And angels watch his soft repose!
3. So Jesus slept-God's dying Son
Passed through the grave, and blest the bed!
Rest here, dear saint! till from His throne
The morning break, and pierce the shade!
4, Break from his throne, illustrious morn!
Attend, O earth, His sovereign word!
Restore thy trust a glorious form-
He must ascend to meet his Lord!
(May be used on a Funeral occasion at Sea.)
REJOICE for a Brother deceased,
Our loss is his infinite gain;
A soul out of prison released,
And freed from its bodily chain :
With songs let us follow his flight,
And mount with his spirit above,
Escaped to the mansions of light,
And lodged in the Eden of love.
2. Our brother the haven hath gained,
Out-flying the tempest and wind;
His rest he hath sooner obtained,
And left his companions behind.
Still tossed on a sea of distress,
They labour to make the blest shore,
Where all is assurance and peace,
And sorrow and sin are no more.
3. There all the ship's company meet,
Who sailed with their Saviour beneath;
With shouting, each other they greet,
And triumph o'er trouble and death:
The voyage of life at an end,
And mortal affliction all past;
The age that in heaven they'll spend,
For ever and ever shall last.
492 C. M. At the Funeral of a Young Person. STEELE. WHEN blooming youth is snatched away, By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,
Which pity must demand.
2. While pity prompts the rising sigh,
O, may this truth, imprest
With awful power, I too must die !'
Sink deep in every breast.
3. The voice of this alarming scene,
May every heart obey;
Nor be the heavenly warning vain,
Which calls to watch and pray.
4. 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.
493 C. M. At the Funeral of a Child. STENNETt.
METHINKS I see a thousand charms
In Jesus' lovely face,
While infants in his tender arms,
Receive the smiling grace.
2. I take these little lambs,' said He,
And lay them in my breast;
Protection they thall find in me,-
'In me be ever blest.
3. Death may the bands of life unloose,
'But can't dissolve my love :
• Millions of infant-souls compose
'The family above,
COMFORT UNDER BEREAVEMENTS.
4. Their feeble frames my power shall raise,
And mould with heavenly skill:
I'll give them tongues to sing my praise,
And hands to do my will.'
5. His words the happy parents hear,
And shout, with joys divine,
Dear Saviour, all we have and are,
Shall be for ever thine.
494 C. M. Submission and Comfort, under the loss
PEACE!-'tis the Lord Jehovah's hand
That blasts our joys in death,
Changes the visage once so dear,
And gathers back the breath.
2. 'Tis He, whose justice might demand
Our souls a sacrifice;
Yet scatters, with unwearied hand,
A thousand rich supplies.
3. Our covenant God and Father He,
In Christ, our bleeding Lord,
Whose grace can heal the wounded heart,
With one reviving word.
4. Silent we own Jehovah's name,
We kiss the scourging hand;
And yield our comforts and our life,
To His supreme command.
78. Submission under the Death of a Child
WHEREFORE should I make my moan,
Now the darling child is dead?
He to early rest is gone,
He to paradise is fled ;
I shall go to him, but he
Never shall return to me.
2. God forbids his longer stay,
God recalls the precious loan,
God hath taken him away,
From my bosom to his own;
Surely what He wills is best,
Happy in his will I rest.
3. Faith cries out, It is the Lord!
Let him do as seems him good :
Be thy holy name adored,
Take the gift awhile bestowed;
Take the child, no longer mine,
Thine he is, for ever Thine.
496 C.M. Resurrection of the Just. H. K. WHITE.
WHEN life's vicissitudes are o'er,
And all our powers decay,
Our bodies in the silent tomb,
Shall sleep the years away.
2. Our labours done, securely laid
In this our last retreat,
Unheeded o'er our slumbering dust,
The storms of life shall beat.
3. Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane,
The vital spark shall lie,
For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise,
To seek its kindred sky.
4. These ashes too, this little dust,
Our Father's care shall keep,
Till the last angel rise, and break
The long and dreary sleep.
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