The virtue of Christ's blood.
1 THERE is a fountain fill'd with blood,
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins,
And sinners, plung'd beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
2 The dying thief rejoic'd to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, as vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
3 Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be sav'd to sin no more.
4 E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
MARRIAGE IS HONOURABLE IN ALL."
1 SINCE Jesus freely did appear,
To grace a marriage feast,
O Lord! we ask thy presence here;
Be thou our glorious guest.
2 Upon thy servants, Lord, look down,
Who now have join'd their hands;
Their union with thy favour crown,
And bless their nuptial bands.
With gifts of grace their hearts endow,
Of all rich dowries best;
Their substance bless, and peace bestow,
To sweeten all the rest.
4 In purest love their souls unite,
That they with christian care
May make domestic burdens light,
And ever live in prayer.
The dying Christian to his Soul.
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 wisper-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?
Ŏ death! where is thy sting?
187 7.7.D.
The dying Believer to his soul.
DEATHLESS principle, arise!
Soar, thou native of the skies!
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To his glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before his throne,
Deck his mediatorial crown;
Go, his triumphs to adorn,
Made for God, to God return.
Is thy earthly house distrest,
Willing to retain its guest?
'Tis not thou, but it must die—
Fly, celestial tenant, fly!
Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,
Sweetly breathe thyself away;
Singing, to thy crown remove,
Swift of wing and fir'd with love!
Shudder not to pass the stream;
Venture all thy care on him;
Him whose dying love and power
Still'd its tossing, hush'd its roar;
Safe is the expanded wave,
Gentle as the summer's eve;
Not one object of his care,
Ever suffer'd shipwreck there.
188 C. M.
Reflections on Mortality.
1 BENEATH Our feet and o'er our head,
Is equal warning given;
Beneath us lie the countless dead,
Above us is the heaven.
2 Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril every hour!
3 Our eyes have seen the rosy light
Of youth's soft cheek decay;
And death descend in sudden night
On manhood's middle day.
4 Our eyes have seen the steps of age,
Halt feebly to the tomb;
And yet shall earth our hearts engage,
And dreams of days to come?
5 Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know
Where'er thy foot can tread;
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of her dead.
Deceased saints are not lost.
1 SAY, why should friendship grieve for those
Who safe arrive on Canaan's shore?
Releas'd from all their hurtful foes,
They are not lost, but gone before.
2 How many painful days on earth,
Their fainting spirits number'd o'er!
Now they enjoy a heavenly birth,
They are not lost, but gone before.
3 Dear is the spot where christians sleep,
And sweet the strain which angels pour,
Oh! why should we in anguish weep?
They are not lost, but gone before.
4 Secure from every mortal care,
By sin and sorrow vex'd no more,
Eternal happiness they share,
Who are not lost, but gone before.
5 On Jordan's bank, whene'er we come,
And hear the swelling waters roar,
Jesus, convey us safely home,
To friends not lost, but gone before.
Death of our friends a warning.
1 WHEN those we love are snatched away
By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,
Which friendship must demand.
2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,
With awful power imprest;
May this dread truth, I тoo MUST DIE!
Sink deep in every breast.
3 Let this vain world allure no more;
Behold the opening tomb :
It bids us use the present hour,
To-morrow death may come.
4 The voice of this instructive scene
Let every heart obey;
Nor be the faithful warning vain,
Which calls to watch and pray.
50 let us to that Saviour fly,
Whose arm alone can save ;
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,
And triumph o'er the grave.
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