FUNERAL. HYMN 565. C. M. Martyrs, Lebanon. Funeral of a faithful Minister. FAR AR from affliction, toil, and care, The breathless clay shall slumber here, 2 The gospel was his joy and song, 3 Now he resides where Jesus is, 4 The Churches' loss we all deplore, Since we shall see his face no more, But we are hasting to the tomb; Oh, may we ready stand; Then, dearest Lord, receive us home, -COLLYER. HYMN 566. L. M. FROM Kingsbridge, Armley. Eccl. xii. 7. ROM his low bed of mortal dust, The new inhabitant of bliss, To heav'n directs his ond'rous way. 2 Ye fields, that witness'd once his tears, Ye winds, that wafted oft his sighs, Ye mountains, where he breath'd his pray'rs, When sorrow's shadows veil'd his eyes; 3 No more the weary pilgrim mourns, No more affliction wrings his heart; Th' unfetter'd soul to God returnsFor ever he and anguish part!4 Receive, O earth, his faded form, In thy cold bosom let it lie; Safe let it rest from ev'ry stormSoon must it rise no more to die! The grave. THE grave is now a favor'd spot,— 2 At rest in Jesus' faithful arms; At rest as in a peaceful bed; Secure from all the dreadful storms, Which round this sinful world are spread. 9 Thrice happy souls, who're gone before To that inheritance divine! They labor, sorrow, sigh no more, But brightin endless glory shine. 4 Then let our mournful tears be dry, Or in a gentle measure flow; We hail them happy in the sky, And joyful wait our call to go. 1 HYMN 568. L. M. Sicilian, Putney, Armley. WATTS. [NVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb, 2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear HYMN 569. 8s. C. WESLEY. 1 H% Lambeth, Mitcham, Franklin. Death of a Brother. OW blest is our brother bereft How easy the soul that has left No longer a sinner like me. 2 This earth is affected no more With sickness, or shaken with pain; And passion is vanish'd away. 4 The lids he so seldom could close, Have strangely forgotten to weep; These fountains can yield no suppliesThese hollows from water are free; The tears are all wip'd from these eyes, And evil they never shall see. 5 To mourn and to suffer is mine, While bound in a prison I breathe, And still for deliverance pine, And press to the issues of death. What now with my tears I bedew, Oh, shall I not shortly become! My spirit created anew, Ere I am consign'd to the tomb! HYMN 570. 8s. Mitcham, Uxbridge, Franklin. 1 'IS finish'd! the conflict is past, Her wish is accomplish'd at last, Since Christ was her life when below. To mingle with angels of light, |