2 Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death timely came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed, And bade it bloom for ever there.
3 He died to sin, and all its woes, But for a moment felt the rod— On love’s triumphant wing he rose, To rest for ever with his God!
1041 L. M. Death of an infant.
So fades the lovely, blooming flower, Frail, smiling solace of an hour; So soon our transient comforts fly, And pleasure only blooms to die.
2 Is there no kind, no healing art, To soothe the anguish of the heart? Spirit of grace, be ever nigh; Thy comforts are not made to die.
3 Let gentle patience smile on pain, Till dying hope revives again; Hope wipes the tear from sorrow’s eye, And faith points upward to the sky.
1042 L. M. The early dead.
How blest are they whose transient years Pass like an evening meteor’s flight; Not dark with guilt, nor dim with tears: Whose course is short, unclouded, bright.
2 O, cheerless were our lengthened way: But heaven’s own light dispels the gloom, Streams downward from eternal day, And casts a glory round the tomb.
3 O, stay thy tears; the blest above Have hailed a spirit’s heavenly birth, And sung a song of joy and love; Then why should anguish reign on earth?
1043 L. M. Death is the gate of endless joy.
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 haste, 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.
1044 L. M. The small and great are there. Job 3:19.
The glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armor against fate; Death lays his icy hands on kings.
2 Princes and magistrates must fall, And in the dust be equal made; The high and mighty with the small, Scepter and crown with scythe and spade.
3 The laurel withers on our brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon death’s purple altar now See where the victor victim bleeds!
1045 L. M. That I may know how frail I am. Psalm 39:4.
Almighty Maker of my frame, Teach me the measure of my days; Teach me to know how frail I am, And spend the remnant to thy praise.
2 My days are shorter than a span; A little point my life appears; How frail at best is dying man! How vain are all his hopes and fears!
3 Vain his ambition, noise, and show, Vain are the cares which rack his mind; He heaps up treasures mixed with woe, And dies, and leaves them all behind.
4 O be a nobler portion mine; My God, I bow before thy throne; Earth’s fleeting treasures I resign, And fix my hope on thee alone.
1046 L. M. Make me to know mine end. Psalm 39:4.
O God, thy grace and blessing give To us, who on thy name attend, That we this mortal life may live Regardful of our journey’s end.
2 Teach us to know that Jesus died, And rose again, our souls to save; Teach us to take him as our Guide, Our Help from childhood to the grave.
3 Then shall not death with terror come, But welcome as a bidden guest— The herald of a better home, The messenger of peace and rest.
4 And, when the awful signs appear Of judgment, and the throne above, Our hearts still fixed, we shall not fear, God is our trust; and God is Love.
1047 L. M. I will fear no evil. Psalm 23:4.
Though I walk through the gloomy vale, Where death and all its terrors are, My heart and hope shall never fail, For God my Shepherd’s with me there.
2 Amid the darkness and the deeps, Thou art my comfort, thou my stay; Thy staff supports my feeble steps, Thy rod directs my doubtful way.
1048 L. M. On the death of an infant.
O mourner! who with tender love, Hast wept beside some infant grave, Hast thou not sought a Friend above, Who died thy little one to save?
2 Then lift thy weary, weeping eye Above the waves that round thee dwell; Is not thy darling safe on high? Canst thou not whisper—It is well?
3 Yes, it is well—though never more His infant form to earth be given; He rests where sin and grief are o’er, And thou shalt meet thy child in heaven.
1049 P. M. Blossom of being; seen and gone.