3 There is a world above, Form'd for the good alone; As morning high and higher shines Nor sink those stars in empty night,— They hide themselves in heaven's own light. 272. The Grave. HOW still and peaceful is the grave, Th' appointed house, by heav'ns decree, 2 The wicked there from troubling cease, C.M. 3 There servants, masters, small and great, 4 All, levelled by the hand of death, Till God in judgment calls them forth, 273. Funeral Prayer. OWLY and solemn be Thy children's cry to Thee, A hymn of suppliant breath, 2 O Father! in that hour, When spear, and shield, and crown, 3 Thro' Him who bow'd to take 4 Tremblers beside the grave, 274. Hear, hear our suppliant breath, Thine, only Thine. Hope in Sorrow. P.M. P.M. THOU art gone to the grave, but we will The Saviour has passed through its portal before thee, And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom. 2 Thou art gone to the grave, we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died. 3 Thou art gone to the grave, and its mansion forsaking, Perhaps thy weak spirit in fear lingered long: But the sunshine of Paradise beamed on thy waking, And the sound which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song. 4 Thou art gone to the grave, but 'twere wrong to deplore thee, For God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide. He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee; And death has no sting, since the Saviour has died. 275. 1 The Heavenly Canaan. 4 Could we but climb where Moses stood, C.M. Not Jordan's stream, not death's cold flood, 276. Our Holy Land. 1 THE happy fields, the heavenly host, Do make us gladsome, Lord, but most 2 O bright those golden gates must shine That boundless region how divine, That hath no room for sin! 3 Sweet Holy Land! sweet with the throng Of souls divinely pure; C.M. Where, holy happy ones among, 4 No more to weep o'er lustre lent, 5 But gloriously to spend that grace 6 Here, Lord, with sorrow and with sin 277. "Jerusalem above-the Mother 0 MOTHER dear, Jerusalem ; When shall I come to thee? 2 O happy harbour of God's saints! 3 No dimly cloud o'ershadows thee, C.M. |