SEASONS.

3

L. M.

IGNACE PLEyfl.

960 Earthly things rain and transitory. 1 How vain is all beneath the skies! How transient every earthly bliss! How slender all the fondest ties

That bind us to a world like this!

2 The evening cloud, the morning dew,
The withering grass, the fading flower,
Of earthly hopes are emblems true,
The glory of a passing hour.

3 But though earth's fairest blossoms die,
And all beneath the skies is vain,
There is a brighter world on high,
Beyond the reach of care and pain.

4 Then let the hope of joys to come
Dispel our cares, and chase our fears:
If God be ours, we're traveling home.
Though passing through a vale of tears.

DAVID E. FORD.

961 A peaceful death besought.

1 SHRINKING from the cold hand of death,
I soon shall gather up my feet;
Shall soon resign this fleeting breath,
And die, my fathers' God to meet.
2 Numbered among thy people, I
Expect with joy thy face to see:
Because thou didst for sinners die,
Jesus, in death remember me!
3 0 that without a lingering groan
I may the welcome word receive;
My body with my charge lay down,
And cease at once to work and live!

4 Walk with me through the dreadful shade,

And, certified that thou art mine,

My spirit, calm and undismayed,
I shall into thy hands resign.

5 No anxious doubt, no guilty gloom,
Shall damp whom Jesus' presence cheers:
My Light, my Life, my God is come,
And glory in his face appears.

962

CHARLES WESLEY.

The soul's best portion.

1 ALMIGHTY Maker of my frame,
Teach me the measure of my days;
Teach me to know how frail I am,
And spend the remnant to thy praise.

2 My days are shorter than a span;
A little point my life appears;
How frail, at best, is dying man!

How vain are all his hopes and fears! 3 Vain his ambition, noise, and show; Vain are the cares which rack his mine · He heaps up treasures mixed with woe, And dies, and leaves them all behind 4 O be a nobler portion mine!

My God, I bow before thy throne; Earth's fleeting treasures I resign, And fix my hope on thee alone.

ANNE STERLE.

MEAR.

C. M.

WELSH AIR. AARON WILLIAMS,

964 Man frail—God eternal.

10 GOD, our help in ages past,

Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home!

2 Under the shadow of thy throne
Still may we dwell secure;
Sufficient is thine arm alone,
And our defense is sure.

3 Before the hills in order stood, Or earth received her frame, From everlasting thou art God, To endless years the same.

4 A thousand ages, in thy sight, Are like an evening gone;

Short as the watch that ends the night, Before the rising sun.

5 The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their cares and fears,
Are carried downward by the flood,
And lost in following years.

6 Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.

7 O God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come;

Be thou our guide while life shall last, And our perpetual home!

1 THEE We adore, eternal Name,
And humbly own to thee
How feeble is our mortal frame,
What dying worms are we.

2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
As days and months increase;
And every beating pulse we tell
Leaves but the number less.

3 The year rolls round, and steals away
The breath that first it gave:
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
We're traveling to the grave.

4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground

To push us to the tomb;
And flerce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.

5 Infinite joy, or endless woe,
Attends on every breath;
And yet how unconcerned we go,
Upon the brink of death!

6 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense
To walk this dangerous road;
And if our souls are hurried hence,
May they be found with God!

Doxology.

ISAAC WATTS.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
The God whom we adore,
Be glory, as it was, is now,
And shall be evermore.

TATE AND BRADY,

ISAAC WATTS.

MERIBAH.

C. P. M.

ங்

LOWELL MASON.

966 The brink of fate.

1 THOU God of glorious majesty,
To thee, against myself, to thee,
A worm of earth, I cry;
A half-awakened child of man,
An heir of endless bliss or pain,
A sinner born to die.

2 Lo! on a narrow neck of land,
"Twixt two unbounded seas, I stand,
Secure, insensible:

A point of time, a moment's space, Removes me to that heavenly place, Or shuts me up in hell.

3 O God, mine inmost soul convert, And deeply on my thoughtful heart Eternal things impress:.

Give me to feel their solemn weight, And tremble on the brink of fate, And wake to righteousness.

4 Before me place in dread array,
The pomp of that tremendous day,
When thou with clouds shalt come
To judge the nations at thy bar;
And tell me, Lord, shall I be there
To meet a joyful doom?

5 Be this my one great business here, With serious industry and fear

Eternal bliss to insure;
Tine utmost council to fulfill,
And suffer all thy righteous will,
And to the end endure.

6 Then, Saviour, then my soul receive,
Transported from this vale, to live
And reign with thee above,
Where faith is sweetly lost in sight,
And hope in full, supreme delight,
And everlasting love.

CHARLES WESLEY.

LONDON TUNE BOOK.

1 IF death my friend and me divide,
Thou dost not, Lord, my sorrow chide,
Or frown my tears to see;
Restrained from passionate excess,
Thou bidd'st me mourn in calm distress
For them that rest in thee.

2 I feel a strong immortal hope,
Which bears my mournful spirit up,
Beneath its mountain load;
Redeemed from death, and grief, and pain,
I soon shall find my friend again
Within the arms of God.

3 Pass a few fleeting moments more,
And death the blessing shall restore
Which death has snatched away;
For me thou wilt the summons send,
And give me back my parted friend,
In that eternal day.

968

CHARLES WESLEY.

The momentous question.

1 AND am I only born to die?
And must I suddenly comply

With nature's stern decree?
What after death for me remains?
Celestial joys, or hellish pains,
To all eternity!

2 How then ought I on earth to live,
While God prolongs the kind reprieve,
And props the house of clay?
My sole concern, my single care,
To watch, and tremble, and prepare
Against that fatal day.

8 No room for mirth or trifling here,

For worldly hope, or worldly fear,
If life so soon is gone;

If now the Judge is at the door,
And all mankind must stand before
The inexorable throne!

4 No matter which my thoughts employ,

A moment's misery or joy;

But O! when both shall end,

Where shall I find my destined place? Shall I my everlasting days

With fiends, or angels spend?

5 Nothing is worth a thought beneath, But how I may escape the death

That never, never dies;

How make mine own election sure;
And, when I fail on earth, secure
A mansion in the skies.

6 Jesus, vouchsafe a pitying ray;
Be thou my guide, be thou my way
To glorious happiness.

Ah! write the pardon on my heart,
And whensoe'er I hence depart,
Let me depart in peace.

CHARLES WESLEY.

969 The dying Christian to his sour.
1 VITAL spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O quit this mortal frame;
Trembling, hoping, lingering, 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?"

Doxology.

ALEXANDER POPE.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

The God whom heaven's triumphant host And saints on earth adore;

Be glory as in ages past,

And now it is, and so shall last,
When time shall be no more!

TATE AND BRADY.

CHINA.

C. M.

TIMOTHY SWAX.

E

970 We mourn not as those without hope.

1 WHY do we mourn for dying 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 should we wish the hours more slow, To keep us from our love.

8 Why should we tremble to convey Their bodies to the tomb?

There once the flesh of Jesus lay,

And left a long perfume.

4 The graves of all his saints he blest,
And softened every bed:

Where should the dying members rest,
But with their dying Head?

5 Thence he arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way:
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rising-day.

6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound, And bid our kindred rise:

Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye saints, ascend the skies!

2 Is not e'en death a gain to those
Whose life to God was given?
Gladly to earth their eyes they close,
To open them in heaven.

3 Their toils are past, their work is done, And they are fully blest;

They fought the fight, the victory won, And entered into rest.

4 Then let our sorrows cease to flow; God has recalled his own;

But let our hearts, in every woe,
Still say, "Thy will be done."

WILLIAM H. BATHURST

972 A voice from the tombs.

1 HARK! from the tombs a doleful sound: 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 towers;

The tall, the wise, the reverend head,
Must lie as low as ours."

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

Still walking downward to the tomb,
And yet prepared no more?

4 Grant us the power of quickening grace To fit our souls to fly;

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

ISAAC WATTS.