HYMN 594.

C. M.

Steele.

Springfield. Rochester. Bray.

Victory over death. 1 Cor. xv. 57. 1 DEAR Saviour, thy victorious love Can all my fears control;

Can bid the pangs of guilt remove,
And cheer the trembling soul.

2 Victorious love! thy wondrous pow'r
From sin and death can raise;
Can gild the dark, departing hour,
And tune its groans to praise.

3 Then shall the joyful spirit soar
To life beyond the sky,

Where gloomy death can frown no more, And guilt and terror die.

4 No more, O pale Destroyer, boast
Thy universal sway;

To heav'n-born souls thy sting is lost-
Thy night, the gate of day.
HYMN 595. C. M.

Springfield. Keene.

Celestial prospects.

1 SWEET glories rush upon my sight,
And charm my wond'ring eyes;
The regions of immortal light,
The beauties of the skies!

2 All hail! ye fair celestial shores, Ye lands of endless day;

Swift on my view your prospect pours,
And drives my griefs away.

3 There's a deligtful clearness now-
My clouds of doubt are gone;
Fled is my former darkness too-
My fears are all withdrawn.

4 Short is the passage-short' the space
Between my home and me;
There! there behold the radiant place
How near the mansions be!

5 Immortal wonders! boundless things,
In those dear worlds appear!
Prepare me, Lord, to stretch my wings,
And in those glories share.

HYMN 596. C. M.

Colchester. Springfield.

The everlasting song.

Watts.

1 EARTH has engross'd my love too long! 'Tis time I lift mine eyes Upward, dear Father, to thy throne, And to my native skies.

2 There the blest man, my Saviour, sits: The God! how bright he shines! And scatters infinite delights

On all the happy minds.

3 Seraphs, with elevated strains, Circle the throne around;

And move and charm the starry plains
With an immortal sound.

4 Jesus, the Lord, their harps employs :-
Jesus, my love, they sing!
Jesus, the life of all our joys,
Sounds sweet from ev'ry string.

5 Now let me mount and join their song, And be an angel too;

My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, Here's joyful work for you.

6 I would begin the music here,
And so my soul should rise;

Oh, for some heav'nly notes to bear
My passions to the skies.

HYMN 597. 8s.

Lambeth. Uxbridge.

The last conflict.

Collyer.

1 I SOON shall accomplish my race,
And soar to the temple on high;
Dear Jesus, beholding thy face,
I cheerfully yield me to die.
Farewell, my distress and my wo-
The storms of existence are o'er;
Though fiercely the tempest may blow,
Its fury appals me no more.

2 More quickly and shorter I breatheThe dew is o'erspreading my cheekI feel the approaches of death,

My heartstrings beginning to break; A struggle or two and 'tis doneFrom earth and its anguish I fly; The palm of the conqueror won, I live by submitting to die.

HYMN 598. 8, 7.

C. Wesley.

Sicilian. Northampton Chapel.

The departing saint.

1 HAPPY soul, thy days are ended,
All thy mourning days below:
Go, by angel-guards attended,
To the sight of Jesus, go!

2 Waiting to receive thy spirit,

Lo! the Saviour stands above,
Shows the glory of his merit,

Reaches out the crown of love.

3 Struggle through thy latest passion To thy dear Redeemer's breast, To his uttermost salvation,

To his everlasting rest.

4 For the joy he sets before thee,
Bear a momentary pain;
Die, to live the life of glory-
Suffer, with thy Lord to reign.

HYMN 599. 8s.

M. De Fleury.

Uxbridge. Dismission.
Panting for Heaven.

1 YE angels, who stand round the throne,
And view my Immanuel's face,
In rapturous songs make him known;
Tune, tune your soft harps to his praise:
He form'd you the spirits you are,
So happy, so noble, so good;
When others sunk down in despair,
Confirm'd by his power, ye stood.
2 Ye saints, who stand nearer than they,
And cast your bright crowns at his feet,
His grace and his glory display,

And all his rich mercy repeat:
He snatch'd you from hell and the grave-
He ransom'd from death and despair:
For you he was mighty to save,
Almighty to bring you safe there.
3 Oh, when will the period appear,
When I shall unite in your song?
I'm weary of lingering here,
And I to your Saviour belong!
I'm fetter'd and chain'd up in clay;
I struggle and pant to be free;
I long to be soaring away,

My God and my Saviour to see! 4 I want to put on my attire,

Wash'd white in the blood of the Lamb; I want to be one of your choir,

And tune my sweet harp to his name;