And must my trembling spirit fly
Into a world unknown?
A land of deepest shade,
Unpierced by human thought;
The dreary regions of the dead,
Where all things are forgot.
Soon as from earth I go,
What will become of me?
Eternal happiness or woe
Must then my portion be:
Waked by the trumpet's sound,
I from my grave shall rise,
And see the Judge with glory crowned,
And see the flaming skies.
3 How shall I leave my tomb?
With triumph or regret?
A fearful, or a joyful doom,
A curse or blessing meet?
Will angel-bands convey
Their brother to the bar?
Or devils drag my soul away,
To meet its sentence there?
Who can resolve the doubt,
That rends my anxious breast!
Shall I be with the damned cast out,
Or numbered with the blest?
I must from God be driven,
Or with my Saviour dwell;
Must come at His command to heaven,
Or else depart to hell.
O Thou that would'st not have
One wretched sinner die ;
Who diedst Thyself, my soul to save
From endless misery!
Show me the way to shun
Thy dreadful wrath severe;
That when Thou comest on Thy throne
I may with joy appear!
6 Thou art Thyself the Way;
Thyself in me reveal:
So shall I spend my life's short day
Obedient to Thy will:
So shall I love my God,
Because He first loved me,
And praise Thee in Thy bright abode,
To all eternity.
ND am I only born to die?
And must I suddenly comply
With nature's stern decree?
What after death for me remains?
Celestial joy, or hellish pains,
To all eternity!
2 How then ought I on earth to live,
While God prolongs the kind reprieve,
And props the house of clay!
My sole concern, my single care,
To watch, and tremble, and prepare
Against that fatal day !
3 No room for mirth or trifling here,
For worldly hope, or worldly fear,
If life so soon is gone :
If now the Judge is at the door,
And all mankind must stand before
The' inexorable throne!
4 No matter which my thoughts employ,
A moment's misery, or joy;
But Oh! when both shall end,
Where shall I find my destined place?
Shall I my everlasting days
With fiends or angels spend?
5 Nothing is worth a thought beneath,
But how I may escape the death
never, never dies!
How make mine own election sure,
And, when I fail on earth, secure
A mansion in the skies!
6 Jesus, vouchsafe a pitying ray:
Be Thou my Guide, be Thou my Way
To glorious happiness!
Ah, write the pardon on my heart,
And whensoe'er I hence depart,
Let me depart in peace.
HRINKING from the cold hand of death,
I too shall gather up my feet;
Shall soon resign this fleeting breath,
And die, my father's God to meet.
2 Numbered among Thy people, I
Expect with joy Thy face to see :
Because Thou didst for sinners die,
Jesus, in death, remember me!
3 O that without a lingering groan,
I may the welcome word receive;
My body with my charge lay down,
And cease at once to work and live!
4 Walk with me through the dreadful shade,
And certify that Thou art mine;
My spirit, calm and undismayed,
I shall into Thy hands resign.
5 No anxious doubt, no guilty gloom,
Shall damp whom Jesu's presence cheers;
My light, my life, my God is come,
And glory in His face appears.
L.M. S. WESLEY, JUN. 1786.
HE morning flowers display their sweets,
And their silken leaves unfold,
gay
As careless of the noontide heats,
As fearless of the evening cold.
2 Nipt by the wind's unkindly blast,
Parched by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,
The short-lived beauties die away. 3 So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows:
Fairer than spring the colours shine,
And sweeter than the virgin rose.
4 Or worn by slowly-rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,
The short-lived beauties die away.
5 Yet these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine
Revive with ever-during bloom,
Safe from diseases and decline.
6 Let sickness blast, and death devour,
If heaven must recompense our pains:
Perish the grass, and fade the flower,
If firm the word of God remains.
ENEATH our feet, and o'er our head.
Is equal warning given ;
Beneath us lie the countless dead;
Above us is the heaven.
2 Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril every hour.
3 Our eyes have seen the rosy light
Of youth's soft cheek decay,
And fate descend in sudden night
On manhood's middle day.
4 Our eyes have seen the steps of age
Halt feebly towards the tomb;
And yet shall earth our hearts engage,
And dreams of days to come?
5 Turn, mortal, turn; thy danger know,
Where'er thy foot can tread;
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of her dead.
6 Turn, Christian, turn; thy soul apply
To truths divinely given;
The dead, which underneath thee lie,
Shall live for hell or heaven.
LMIGHTY Maker of my frame,
A 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 mix'd 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 hopes on Thee alone.
EAR what the voice from heaven proclaims
For all the pious dead :
Sweet is the savour of their names,
And soft their dying bed.
2 They die in Jesus, and are bless'd:
How kind their slumbers are!
From sufferings and from woes released,
And freed from every 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 great reward.
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