Read Ebook: The Otterbein Hymnal For Use in Public and Social Worship by Lorenz Edmund S Edmund Simon

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Ebook has 157 lines and 25747 words, and 4 pages

e in thy precious blood, And take my sins away.

Horatius Bonar, 1856.

Days and moments quickly flying Blend the living with the dead; Soon shall we who sing be lying, Each within our narrow bed.

Rev. Edward Caswell, 1849.

As the tree falls so must it lie; As the man lives so will he die; As the man dies, such must he be All through the days of eternity. Amen.

Jesus, while our hearts are bleeding O'er the spoils that death has won, We would at this solemn meeting, Calmly say,--thy will be done.

Thomas Hastings.

Asleep in Jesus! blessed sleep, From which none ever wakes to weep; A calm and undisturbed repose, Unbroken by the dread of foes.

Mrs. Margaret Mackay, 1832.

How blest the righteous when he dies! When sinks a weary soul to rest! How mildly beam the closing eyes! How gently heaves the expiring breast!

Mrs. A.L. Barbauld, 1773.

Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb; Take this new treasure to thy trust And give these sacred relics room, To slumber in the silent dust.

Isaac Watts, 1734.

So fades the lovely, blooming flower-- Frail smiling solace of an hour! So soon our transient comforts fly, And pleasure only blooms to die.

Anne Steele, 1760

Why do we mourn departing friends, Or shake at death's alarms? 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends, To call them to his arms.

Isaac Watts, 1707.

And let this feeble body fail, And let it faint or die; My soul shall quit the mournful vale, And soar to worlds on high--

Charles Wesley, 1759.

Why should our tears in sorrow flow When God recalls his own, And bids them leave a world of woe, For an immortal crown?

Wm. H. Bathurst, 1829.

I would not live alway; I ask not to stay Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way; The few cloudy mornings that dawn on us here Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer.

W.A. Muhlenburg.

"Thy will be | done!" || In devious way The hurrying stream of | life may | run; || Yet still our grateful hearts shall say, | "Thy will be | done."

Sir. J. Bowring, 1825.

My days are gliding swiftly by, And I a pilgrim stranger, Would not detain them as they fly, Those hours of toil and danger.

Cho.--For, oh! we stand on Jordan's strand, Our friends are passing over; And, just before, the shining shore We may almost discover.

David Nelson, 1835.

Cho.--O land above! O land of love! The glory shineth o'er thee; O Christ, our King! in mercy bring Us thither, we implore thee!

Alexander R. Thompson, 1869.

One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er; I'm nearer home to-day Than e'er I've been before.

Cho.--I'm nearer my home, nearer my home, Nearer my home to-day; Yes, nearer my home in heav'n to-day, Than ever I've been before.

There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel for her children crying Will not be comforted!

Henry W. Longfellow, 1849.

Peace, be still! In this night of sorrow bow; Oh, my heart, contend not thou; What befalls is God's own will; Peace, be still!

Schiller.

Rest, weary pilgrim, thy journey is o'er, Rest, sweetly rest, on the beautiful shore; Safely at last thou hast reached the bright goal, Fatherland, home of the soul.

Maria Straub.

As fade the stars at morn away, Their glory gone in perfect day, So pass away the friends we love, Their presence lost in worlds above, While we o'er their slumbers are weeping.

J.E. Rankin, D.D.

Midst sorrow and care There's one that is near, And ever delights to relieve us.

When thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come, To take thy ransomed people home, Shall I among them stand? Shall such a worthless worm as I, Who sometimes am afraid to die, Be found at thy right hand?

Mrs. Selina Shirley, 1772

Lo! on a narrow neck of land, Between two boundless seas I stand,-- Yet how insensible! A point of time--a moment's space-- Removes me to yon heavenly place, Or shuts me up in hell!

Charles Wesley, 1749.

That awful day will surely come, Th' appointed hour makes haste, When I must stand before the Judge And pass the solemn test.

Isaac Watts, 1707.

And must I be to judgment brought, And answer in that day, For every vain and idle thought, And every word I say?

Charles Wesley.

Jerusalem, the golden, With milk and honey blest! Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice oppressed: I know not, oh, I know not, What social joys are there, What radiancy of glory, What light beyond compare.

Bernard of Cluny, 1145. J.M. Neale, tr., 1751.

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