HYMN CCLXXXIX. L. M.

The grave destroyed.

1 Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb,
Take this new treasure to thy trust;
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in thy silent dust.

2 No pain, no grief, no anxious fear,
Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes
Can reach the peaceful sleeper here,
Whilst angels watch its soft repose.
3 So Jesus slept; God's dying son

Past through the grave and blest the bed; Then rest, dear saint, till from his throne The morning break, and pierce the shade. 4 Break from his throne, illustrious morn! Attend, O grave, his sovereign word! Restore thy trust; the glorious form Will then arise to meet the Lord.

HYMN CCXC. L.M.

Encouragement to the suffering Christian.

1 Faint not, poor traveller, though thy way Be rough, like that thy Saviour trod; Though cold and stormy lower the day, This path of suff'ring leads to God.

2 Nay, sink not, though from every limb Are starting drops of toil and pain;

Thou dost but share the lot of him,
With whom his followers are to reign.

3 Christian! thy friend, thy master prayed,
While dread and anguish shook his frame;
Then met his suff"rings undismayed;
Wilt thou not strive to do the same?

4 O, think'st thou that his Father's love
Shone round him then with fainter rays,
Than now, when throned all height above,
Unceasing voices hymn his praise?

5 Go, sufferer, calmly meet the woes,
Which God's own mercy bids thee bear,
Then, rising as thy Saviour rose,
Go, his eternal victory share.

HYMN CCXCI. P. M.

The pilgrim's song.

1 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise, from transitory things

Towards heaven, thy native place.
Sun, and moon, and stars decay,

Time shall soon this earth remove;

Rise, my soul, and haste away
To seats prepar'd above.

2 Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn;
Press onward to the prize;
Soon your Saviour will return,
Triumphant in the skies.
Yet a season and, you know,
Happy entrance shall be given,
All your sorrows left below,
And earth exchang'd for heaven.

HYMN CCXCII. C. M.

The Christian supported.

1 Yes, there's a better world on high;
Hope on, thou pious breast;
Faint not, thou traveller, on the sky
Thy weary feet shall rest.

2 Anguish may rend each vital part;
Poor man! thy frame how frail!

Yet heaven's own strength shall shield thy heart,

When strength and flesh shall fail.

3 Thro' death's dread vale of deepest shade Thy feet must surely go;

Yet there, ev'n there, walk undismay'd; 'Tis thy last scene of woe.

4 Jesus, and with the tenderest hand, Shall guard the trav'ller through; 'Hail!' shalt thou cry, 'hail, promis'd land! And, wilderness, adieu !'

5 Jesus! O make our souls thy care! O take us all to thee;

Where'er thou art, we ask not where ;
But there 'tis heaven to be.

HYMN CCXCIII. P. M.

The dying christian.

1 Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying;
O 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?

3 The world recedes; it disappears.
Heaven opens on my eyes; my 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?

HYMN CCXCIV.

Six Line C. M.

The same subject.

1 When life's tempestuous storms are o'er; How calm he meets the friendly shore,. Who lived averse from sin,

Such peace on virtue's paths attends,
That where the sinner's pleasure ends,
The good man's joys begin.

2 See smiling patience smooth his brow!
See bending angels downward bow!
To lift his soul on high;
While eager for the blest abode,
He joins with them to praise the God,
Who taught him how to die.

3 The horrors of the grave and hell,
Those horrors which the wicked feel,
In vain their gloom display;
For he who bids yon comet burn,
Or makes the night descend, can turn
Their darkness into day,

4 No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes,
No horror wrests the struggling sighs,
As from the sinner's breast;

His God, the God of peace and love,
Pours kindly solace from above,

And heals his soul with rest.

5 O grant, my Saviour, and my friend, Such joys may gild my peaceful end, And calm my evening close;