THE VICTORY OVER DEATH. 1186 I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.

Rev. 14. 13.
1 FARK ! a voice divides the sky,

Happy are the faithful dead !
In the Lord who sweetly die,
They from all their toils are freed;
Them the Spirit hath declared
Blest, unutterably blest;
Jesus is their great reward,

Jesus is their endless rest.
2 Followed by their works, they go
Where their Head hath

gone before;
Reconciled by grace below,
Grace hath opened mercy's door ;
Justified through faith alone
Here they knew their sins forgiven,
Here they laid their burden down,

Hallowed, and made meet for heaven.
3 Who can now lament the lot

Of a saint in Christ deceased ?
Let the world, who know us not,
Call us hopeless and unblest ;
When from flesh the spirit freed
Hastens homeward to return,


“ A man is dead!”
Angels sing, “ A child is born !'
4 Jesus smiles, and says, “ Well done,

Good and faithful servant thon;

Enter, and receive thy crown,
Reign with me triumphant now."
Thou the victory hast won,
Saved them by Thy grace alone,
Caught them up Thy face to see,
Thanks be all ascribed to Thee !

C. WESLEY. 1759.

1187 As is the heavenly

, such are they also that are

heavenly.-1 Cor. 15. 48.


IT is not death to die,

T is not death to die,

To leave this weary road,
And midst the brotherhood on high,

To be at home with God.


It is not death to close

The eye long dimmed by tears,
And wake in glorious repose

To spend eternal years.


It is not death to bear

The wrench that sets us free,
From dungeon-chains to breathe the air

Of boundless liberty.


It is not death to fling

Aside this sinful dust,
And rise on strong, exulting wing,

To live among the just.

5 Jesus, Thou Prince of life,

Thy chosen cannot die;
Like Thee, they conquer in the strife,
To reign with Thee on high,

G, W. BETHUNE. 1855.


148th. 1188

He that overcometh.-Rev. 3. 5.
1 YAFE home, safe home in port:

Strained cordage, shattered deck,
Torn sails, provisions short,

And only not a wreck;
But, O! the joy upon the shore,

To tell our voyage-perils o'er :
2 The prize, the prize secure!

The wrestler nearly fell;
Bare all he could endure,

And bare not always well.
But he may smile at troubles gone

Who sets the victor-garland on. 3 No more the foe can harm,

No more of leaguered camp,
And cry of night-alarm,

And need of ready lamp.
And yet how nearly he had failed;

How nearly had the foe prevailed! 4 The lamb is in the fold,

In perfect safety penned ;
The lion once had hold,

And thought to make an end.
But One came by with wounded side,

And for the sheep the Shepherd died. 5 The exile is at home;

O nights and days of tears !
O longings not to roam !

O sins and doubts and fears !
What matters now, O joyful day,

The King has wiped all tears away! 6 O happy, happy bride!

Thy widowed hours are past ;

The Bridegroom at thy side,

Thou all His own at last;
The sorrows of thy former cup,
In full fruition swallowed up.


TR. BY J. M. NEALE. 1862.

1189 And white robes were given unto them.

Rev. 6. 11.

1 CHO are these arrayed in white,

Brighter than the noon-day sun?
Foremost of the sons of light,
Nearest the eternal throne ?
These are they that bore the Cross,
Nobly for their Master stood;
Sufferers in His righteous causé,

Followers of the dying God.
2 Out of great distress they came,

Washed their robes by faith below
In the blood of yonder Lamb,
Blood that washes white as snow :
Therefore are they next the throne,
Serve their Maker day and night;
God resides among His own,

God doth in His saints delight.
3 More than conquerors at last,

Here they find their trials o'er;
They have all their sufferings past,
Hunger now and thirst no more;
No excessive heat they feel
From the sun's directer ray;
In a milder clime they dwell,
Region of eternal day.

4 He that on the throne doth reign,

Them the Lamb shall always feed,
With the tree of life sustain,
To the living fountains lead;
He shall all their sorrows chase,
All their wants at once remove,
Wipe the tears from every face,
Fill up every soul with love.

C. WESLEY. 1745.



L.M. 1190

A door opened in heaven.-Rev. 4. 1. 1 O

To animate our feeble strains, From the bright realms of endless day,

The blissful realms where Jesus reigns. 2 There, low before His glorious throne,

Adoring saints and angels fall ;
And, with delightful worship, own

His smile their bliss, their heaven, their all. 3 Immortal glories crown His head,

While tuneful Hallelujahs rise,
And love, and joy, and triumph spread

Through all the assemblies of the skies. 4 He smiles, and seraphs tune their songs

To boundless rapture as they gaze;
Ten thousand thousand joyful tongues

Resound His everlasting praise.
5 There all the followers of the Lamb

Shall join at last the heavenly choir :

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