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"Tis here the tree of knowledge grows, Nor danger dwells therein.

4 O! may thy counsels, mighty God,
My roving feet command;
Nor I forsake the happy road,
That leads to thy right hand.



1 BEHOLD the morning sun
Begins his glorious way;

His beams through all the nations run,
And life and light convey.

2 But where the gospel comes,

It spreads diviner light,

It calls dead sinners from their tombs,
And gives the blind their sight.
3 How perfect is thy word!

And all thy judgments just!
Forever sure thy promise, Lord,

And we securely trust.

4 My gracious God, how plain
Are thy directions given!
O! may I never read in vain,
But find the path to heaven.



1 HOW shall the young secure their hearts,
And guard their lives from sin?
Thy word the choicest rules imparts,
To keep the conscience clean.

2 'Tis like the sun-a heavenly light,
That guides us all the day;
And, through the dangers of the night,
A lamp to lead our way.

3 Thy precepts make me truly wise; I hate the sinner's road;

I hate my own vain thoughts that rise,
But love thy law, my God.

4 Thy word is everlasting truth, How pure is every page!

That holy book shall guide our youth,
And well support our age.


HYMN. 8's and 7's.
Mourners comforted.


1 CEASE, ye mourners, cease to languish,
O'er the grave of those you love;
Pain, and death, and night, and anguish,
Enter not the world above.

2 While our silent steps are straying,

Lonely, through night's deep'ning shade, Glory's brightest beams are playing

Round th' immortal spirit's head. 3 Light and peace at once deriving

From the hand of God most high, In his glorious presence living,

They shall never never die.
4 Endless pleasure, pain excluding,

Sickness there, no more can come;
There no fear of wo, intruding,

Sheds o'er heav'n a moment's gloom. 5 Now, ye mourners, cease to languish

O'er the grave of those you love;
Far remov'd from pain and anguish,
They are chanting hymns above.

Death of the Righteous.


1 HOW bless'd the righteous when he dies!
When sinks a weary soul to rest,
How mildly beam the closing eyes,
How gently heaves th' expiring breast!

2 So fades a summer cloud away,
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er,
So gently shuts the eye of day,
So dies a wave along the shore.

3 A holy quiet reigns around,

A calm which life nor death destroys;

Nothing disturbs that peace profound
Which his unfetter'd soul enjoys.

4 Farewell, conflicting hopes and fears, Where lights and shades alternate dwell; How bright th' unchanging morn appears, Farewell, inconstant world, farewell.

Dying in the Lord.


1 HEAR what the voice from heav'n proclaims, For all the pious dead;

Sweet is the savour of their names,
And soft their sleeping beds.

2 They die in Jesus, and are bless'd;
How kind their slumbers are!
From suff'rings, and from sins releas'd,
And freed from ev'ry snare.

3 Far from this world of toil and strife, They're present with the Lord; The labours of their mortal life

End in a large reward.


Mourning with Hope.


1 THAT once lov'd form now cold and dead, Each mournful thought employs;

And nature weeps, her comforts fled,
And wither'd all her joys.

2 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time;
When what we now deplore,

Shall rise in full immortal prime,
And bloom to fade no more.

3 Then cease, fond nature, cease thy tears, Religion points on high;

There everlasting spring appears,
And joys that cannot die.


140 "The weary are at rest.”

1 HOW still and peaceful is the grave,
Where, life's vain tumults past,
Th' appointed house, by heav'n's decree,
Receives us all at last.

2 The wicked there from troubling cease,
Their passions rage no more;
And there the weary pilgrim rests
From all the toils he bore.

3 All, levell'd by the hand of death,
Lie sleeping in the tomb,
Till God, in judgment, call them forth
To meet their final doom.


The Grave. Job. iii. 17.


1 THE grave is now a favour'd spotTo saints who sleep, in Jesus bless'd; For there the wicked trouble not,

And there the weary are at rest. 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. 3 Thrice, happy souls, who're gone before To that inheritance divine! They labour, sorrow, sigh no more, But bright in 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.

HYMN. 8's.
Death of a Brother.


1 HOW blest is our brother, bereft
Of all that could burden his mind;
How easy the soul that has left

This wearisome body behind!
Of evil incapable thou,

Whose relics with envy I see,
No longer in misery now,
No longer a sinner like me.
2 This earth is affected no more

With sickness, or shaken with pain;
The war in the members is o'er,
And never shall vex him again;

No anger henceforward, or shame,
Shall redden his innocent clay;
Extinct is the animal flame,

And passion is vanish'd away.
3 The lids he so seldom could close,
By sorrow forbidden to sleep,
Seal'd up in eternal repose,

Have strangely forgotten to weep;
These fountains can yield no supplies-

These hollows from water are free; The tears are all wip'd from these eyes, And evil they never shall see.

4 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. 8's.
Death of a Sister.


1 'TIS finish'd! the conflict is past, The heav'n-born spirit is fled; Her wish is accomplish'd at last,

And now she's entomb'd with the dead. The months of affliction are o'er,

The days and the nights of distress; We see her in anguish no more

She's gained her happy release. 2 No sickness, or sorrow, or pain,

Shall ever disquiet her now;
For death to her spirit was gain,

Since Christ was her life when below.
Her soul has now taken its flight

To mansions of glory above,
To mingle with angels of light,

And dwell in the kingdom of love.

5 The victory now is obtain'd;

She's gone her dear Saviour to see;

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