**HYMN 436. 8 & 7s. M. [#]

Devotional Praise.

1 PRAISE to thee, thou great Creator;
Praise to thee from every tongue ;
Join, my soul, with every creature,
Join the universal song.

2 For ten thousand blessings given,
For the hope of future joy,

Sound his praise through earth and heaven, Sound Jehovah's praise on high.

HYMN 437. S. M. [#]

Pure Devotion.

1 LET pure devotion rise,
And kindle to a flame,
Ascend like incense to the skies,
In our Redeemer's name.

2 His word, like drops of dew,
Descends on every heart,
Subdues and fashions us anew,
And bids our sins depart.

3 His grace our faith sustains,
And dissipates our fear,

Binds all our wounds, abates our pains,
And gives us comforts here.

◄ He bids our willing eyes

Look through the gloomy shade,

To joys immortal in the skies,

That never cloy nor fade.

CONSOLATORY SUBJECTS.

536

HYMN 438. C. M. [b]

God the Source of Consolation.

1 WHEN 'reft of all, and hopeless care
Would sink us to the tomb,
What power shall save us from despair?
What dissipate the gloom?

2 No balm that earthly plants distil
Can soothe the mourner's smart;
No mortal hand, with lenient skill,
Bind up the broken heart.

3 But One alone, who reigns above,
Our wo to joy can turn,

And light the lamp of life and love
That long has ceased to burn.

4 Then, O my soul, to that One flee;
To God thy woes reveal;
His eye alone thy wounds can see,
His power alone can heal.

* HYMN 439. L. M. [b]

Death the Gate of endless Joy.

1 WHY should we start and fear to die?

What timorous worms we mortals are!

Death is the gate of endless joy,

And yet we dread to enter there.

2 The pains, the groans, and dying strife, Fright our approaching souls away; Still we shrink back again to life,

Fond of our prison and our clay.

3 O, if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul would stretch her wings in hare,
Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

4 Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there

HYMN 440. C. M. [b]

Comfort under Bereavements.

1 WHY do we mourn departed 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 would we wish the hours more slow,
To keep us from our Love.

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

There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.

4 Thence he arose, ascended high,
And showed our feet the way;

Up to the Lord our souls shall fly
At the great rising day.

5 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye saints, ascend the skies.

HYMN 441. L. P. M. [b]

On the Death of Friends.

1 O, GOD of my salvation, hear
My nightly groans, my daily prayer,
That still employ my wasting breath :
My soul, declining to the grave,
Implores thy sovereign power to save
From dark despair and gloomy death.

2 Thy hand lies heavy on my soul,
And waves of sorrow o'er me roll,

While dust and silence spread the gloom.
My friends beloved, in happier days,
The dear companions of my ways,
Descend around me to the tomb.

3 As lost in lonely grief I tread
The silent mansions of the dead,
Or to some thronged assembly go;
Through all alike I rove alone,
Forgotten here, and there unknown,

The change renews my piercing wo.

4 My friends are gone, my comforts fled, The sad remembrance of the dead

Recalls my wandering thoughts to mourn;

But, through each melancholy day,
I call on thee, and still will pray,
Imploring still thy kind return.

HYMN 442. C. M. [bor #]
Human Frailty and divine Support.

1 LET others boast how strong they be,
Nor death nor danger fear;
But we'll confess, O Lord, to thee,
What feeble things we are.

2 Fresh as the grass our bodies stand,
And flourish bright and gay-
A blasting wind sweeps o'er the land,
And fades the grass away.

3 Our life contains a thousand springs,
And dies if one be gone;

Strange, that a harp of thousand strings
Should keep in tune so long!

4 But 'tis our God supports our frame,
The God that built us first ;
Salvation to Jehovah's name

That reared us from the dust.

5 While we have breath, or use our tongues, Our Maker we'll adore :

His spirit moves our heaving lungs,
Or they would breathe no more.

HYMN 443. S. M. [b or #]

Comfort in Sickness and Death.

1 WHEN sickness shakes the frame, Each dazzling pleasure flies.