265. Death dreadful, or delightful. (C. M.)

EATH! 'tis a melancholy day,
To those that have no God,
When the poor soul is forc'd away,
To seek her last abode.

2 In vain to heav'n she lifts her eyes;
But guilt, a heavy chain,

Still drags her downward from the skies,
To darkness, fire, and pain.

3 Awake, and mourn, ye heirs of hell;

Let stubborn sinners fear:

You must be driv'n from earth, and dwell,
A long for ever there.

4 See how the pit gapes wide for you,
And flashes in your face;

And thou, my soul, look downwards too,
And sing recov'ring grace.

5 He is a God of sov'reign love,
That promis'd heav'n to me;
And taught my thoughts to soar above,
Where happy spirits be.

6 Prepare me, Lord, for thy right hand;
Then come the joyful day;

Come, death, and some celestial band,
To bear my soul away.

266. A Thought of Death and Glory. (C. M.) MY soul, come meditate the day,

And think how near it stands,

When thou must quit this house of clay,
And fly to unknown lands.

2 And you, mine eyes, look down and vie The hollow gaping tomb;

This gloomy prison waits for you,
Whene'er the summons come.

3 0! could we die with those that die,
And place us in their stead;
Then would our spirits learn to fly,
And converse with the dead.

4 Then should we see the saints above,
In their own glorious forms,
And wonder why our souls should love,
To dwell with mortal worms.

5 How we should scorn these clothes of fl
These fetters, and this load:

And long for ev'ning to undress,
That we may rest with God.

6 We should almost forsake our clay,
Before the summons come,
And pray, and wish our souls away,
To their eternal home.

267.

1 HA

The same. (C. M.)

ARK! from the tombs a doleful sou
My ears attend the cry:

"Ye living men, come view the ground,
Where you must shortly lie.

2 "

Princes, this clay must be your bed,
"In spite of all your pow'rs;

"The tall, the wise, the rev'rend head,
"Must lie as low as ours."

3 Great God! is this our certain doom,
And are we still secure!

Still walking downward to our tomb,
And yet prepare no more!

4 Grant us the pow'r of quick'ning grace,
To fit our souls to fly;

Then, when we drop this dying flesh,
We'll rise above the sky.

268. The End of the World. (C. M.)

W

HY should this earth delight us so?
Why should we fix our eyes

On these low grounds, where sorrows grow,
And ev'ry pleasure dies?

2 While time his sharpest teeth prepares,
Our comforts to devour,

There is a land above the stars,
And joys above his pow'r.

Nature shall be dissolv'd and die,
The sun must end his race,
The earth and sea for ever fly,
Before my Saviour's face.

4 When will that glorious morning rise,
When the last trumpet's sound
Shall call the nations to the skies,
From underneath the ground?

269. Death and Eternity. Job xiv. 10. (C. M.) MY thoughts, that often mount the skies,

Go, search the world beneath,

Where nature all in ruin lies,

And owns her sovereign, Death.

2 The tyrant, how he triumphs here!
His trophies spread around!

And heaps of dust and bones appear,
Through all the hollow ground.

3 But where's the souls, those deathless thin That left their dying clay?

My thoughts, now stretch out all your win
And trace-Eternity!

4 0 that unfathomable sea!

Those deeps without a shore !
Where living waters gently play,
Or fiery billows roar.

5 Thus must we leave the banks of life,
And try this doubtful sea;

Vain are our groans and dying strife,
To gain a moment's stay.

6 There we shall swim in heavenly bliss,
Or sink in flaming waves,

While the pale carcase thoughtless lies,
Amongst the silent graves.

7 Thus shall our mouldering members teach,
What now our senses learn;
For dust and ashes loudly preach,

Man's infinite concern.

270. Death solemn and unforeseen. Psalm ciii.

(C. M.)

1 DEATH! what a solemn word to all!

What mortal things are men!

We just arise,-and soon we fall,
To mix with earth again.

1

2 "Twas sin that brought in all our woe,
And gave to death his pow'r;
Hence all our painful sorrows flow,
Till life's departing hour.

3 "Tis God that fixes each event,
Of varying life or death;
By him revolving years are lent,
Or he arrests our breath.

4 Thankful we own thy goodness past,
Thou sovereign Lord of all:
Watching may each be found at last,
To hear the Bridegroom's call.

5 Oh! fit us for thy sov'reign will,
Thy mercy, Lord, impart;
Help us thy pleasure to fulfil,
And yield thee all our heart.

71. The Dying Christian to his Soul. (P.M.) 1 VITAL spark of heavenly flame,

Quit, O quit this mortal frame,
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

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?