6 The time is short!-the moment near, When we shall dwell above; And be forever happy there, HYMN 577. C. M. LOGAN. Elgin, Standish, Aldridge. Ps. xc. 5, 9. Tits toments to the main, HE mighty flood, that rolls along The waters lost can ne'er recal, 2 The days, the years, the ages dark, 3 Where are our Fathers?-Whither gone The mighty men of old! The patriarchs, prophets, princes, kings, 4 Gone to the resting place of man, 'I HYMN 578. Lambeth, Uxbridge. 8s. Job xvi. 22. xvii. 1, 11. WAIT a few sorrowful years, 1 But flee from the valley of tears Or linger as loth to depart. 2 My days are extinguish'd and gone- Whose dust is all safe in the tomb, Is ready to welcome me home. HYMN 579. L. M. Surry, Norfolk. Eternity. E and shall I waste my ebbing sand; TERNITY is just at hand! And careless view departing day, 2 But an eternity there is Of endless wo, or endless bliss ; 3 What countless millions of mankind Have left this fleeting world behind! They're gone! but where?-ah, pause and see, Gone to a long eternity. 4 Sinner! canst thou forever dwell And is death nothing, then to thee; L Penitent, Pilgrim, Woods. O! on a narrow neck of land, "Twixt two unbounded seas I stand, Yet how insensible ! A point of time-a moment's spaceRemoves me to yon heav'nly place, Or-shuts me up in hell! 2 O God, my inmost soul convert, Give me to feel their solemn weight, 3 Before me place, in bright array, 4 Be this my one great business here, 1 THE Florence, Steffani's, Clifford. HE winter past, reviving flowers The woods shall hear the voice of Spring, 2 Shall man depart this earthly scene, 3Shall life revisit dying worms, 4 Cease-all ye vain desponding fears; When Christ from darkness sprang, Death, the last foe, was captive led, And heav'n with praises rang. 5 The trump shall sound;-the gates of death Shall make his children way; From the cold tomb the slumb'rers spring, HYMN 582. C. M. H. K. WHITE, Chapel, Aldridge, Wantage. HRO' sorrow's night and danger's path, We, soldiers of an injur❜d King, 2 There, when the turmoil is no more. 3 Our labors done, securely laid 4 These ashes poor, this little dust, 5 Then love's soft dew o'er ev'ry eye THE HYMN 583. L. M. China, Luther's Hymn. HE saints, who now in Jesus sleep, His own almighty pow'r shall keep Till dawns the bright illustrious day, When death itself shall die away. |