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L, M. Dedication of the heart to God.
Ps. lvii, 7; lxi, 8; cxvi, 18.
On Thee, my Saviour and my God!
And tell its raptures all abroad.
To Him, who merits all my love!
While to that sacred shrine I move, 3 Now rest, my long-divided heart,
Fix'd on this blissful centre, rest:
When callid on angels' bread to feast. 4 High heaven, that heard the solemn vow,
That vow renew'd shall daily hear,
Speaks the departure of a soul,
2 Only this frail and fleeting breath
Preserves me from the jaws of death;
And plunged into a world unknown. 3 Lord Jesus ! help me now to flee,
And seek my hope alone in Thee;
Subdue my sin, and let me live.
If saved from guilt, I need not fear;
Perhaps it next may toll for me. 5 Rather my spirit would rejoice,
And long, and wish, to hear thy voice;
Sorrowing, not as those without hope.
2 Sam. xii, 23. 1 Thess. iv, 13-17. 1 Why do we mourn departed friends,
Or shake at death's alarms?
To call them to his arms.
2 Are we not tending upward too,
As fast as time can move?
That keep us from our love?
Their bodies to the tomb?
And sanctified its gloom.
And soften'd ev'ry bed:
But with the dying Head?
And shew'd our feet the way:
At the great rising day.
L. M. Asleep in Jesus.
John xi, 11. 1 Thess. iv, 14. 1 ASLEEP in Jesus! blessed sleep!
From which none ever wakes to weep;
2 Asleep in Jesus! peaceful rest !
Whose waking is supremely blest;
3 Asleep in Jesus! oh! how sweet
To be for such a slumber meet;
4 Asleep in Jesus! oh! for me
May such a blissful slumber be!
P.M. Comfort when Christian friends depart.
1 Cor. xv, 19-22, 55-57. I Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not
deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness enc pass
the tomb; Thy Saviour has pass'd through its portals
before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide
through the gloom.
2 Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer
behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by
thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to
enfold thee, And sinners may hope, for the Sinless has
3 Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion
forsaking, Perchance thy weak spirit in fear linger'd
long; But the mild rays of Paradise beam'd on thy
waking, And the sound, which thou heard'st, was
the Seraphim's song.
4 Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not
deplore thee, Whose God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian,
and Guide; He gave thee, He took thee, and He will
restore thee; And death has no sting, for the Saviour