Safe is the expanded wave;
Gentle as a summer's eve:
Not one object of his care
Ever suffered shipwreck there.
5 Saints, in glory perfect made,
Wait thy passage through the shade:
Ardent for thy coming o'er,
See, they throng the blissful shore.
Mount, their transports to improve:
Join the longing choir above:
Swiftly to their wish be given:
Kindle higher joy in heaven.
THE MOMENT AFTER DEATH. Abbey Tune-Winchester Old-Farrant. 1 In vain my fancy strives to paint The moment after death;
The glories that surround the saints,
When yielding up their breath.
2 One gentle sigh their fetters breaks,
We scarce can say "they're gone!"
Before the willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.
3 Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
To trace her in her flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides the world of light.
4 Thus much (and this is all) we know, They are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest.
ABSENT FROM THE BODY.
Emperor's Hymn Corinth.
1 Oh, the hour when this material
Shall have vanished as a cloud;
When, amid the wide ethereal,
All the invisible shall crowd;
And the naked soul, surrounded
With realities unknown,
Triumph in the view unbounded,
Feel herself with God alone!
2 In that sudden strange transition,
By what new and finer sense
Shall she grasp the mighty vision,
And receive its influence?
Angels, guard the new immortal
Through the wonder-teeming space
To the everlasting portal,
To the spirit's resting-place.
3 Will she then, with fond emotion,
Nought of earthly love retain?
Or, absorbed in pure devotion,
Will no mortal trace remain?
Can the grave those ties dissever,
With the very heart strings twined? Must she part, and part for ever,
With the friends she leaves behind? 4 No, the past she still remembers; Faith and hope surviving too, Ever watch those sleeping embers, Which must rise and live anew For the widowed, lonely spirit, Waiting to be clothed afresh, Longs perfection to inherit,
And to triumph in the flesh.
5 Angels, let the ransomed stranger
In your tender care be blest,
Hoping, trusting, safe from danger,
Till the trumpet end her rest;
Till the trump which shakes creation,
Through the circling heavens shall roll,
Till the day of consummation,
Till the bridal of the soul.
6 Can I trust a fellow-being?
Can I trust an angel's care?
O thou merciful All-seeing,
Beam around my spirit there.
Jesus, blessed Mediator,
Thou the airy path hast trod:
Thou the Judge, the Consummator,
Shepherd of the fold of God.
Blessed fold, no foe can enter,
And no friend departeth thence.
Jesus is their sun, their centre,
And their shield, Omnipotence.
Blessed, for the Lamb shall feed them,
All their tears shall wipe away,
To the living fountains lead them,
Till fruition's perfect day.
Lo! it comes, that day of wonder!
Louder chorals shake the skies.
Hades' gates are burst asunder:
See, the new clothed myriads rise.
Thought, repress thy weak endeavour:
Here must reason prostrate fall.
Oh, the Ineffable for Ever,
And the Eternal All in all!
FOR EVER WITH THE LORD.
Waterbrook-Prague-Hampton.
1 For ever with the Lord!
Amen; so let it be;
Life from the dead is in that word,
"Tis immortality.
2 Here in the body pent,
Absent from him I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.
3 My Father's house on high,
Home of my soul, how near,
At times, to faith's foreseeing eye
Thy golden gates appear!
4 Ah! then my spirit faints
To reach the land I love,
The bright inheritance of saints;
Jerusalem above.
5 For ever with the Lord!
Father, if 'tis thy will,
The promise of that faithful word,
Even here to me fulfil.
6 Be thou at my right hand,
Then can I never fail;
Uphold thou me, and I shall stand,
Fight, and I must prevail.
7 So when my latest breath
Shall rend the veil in twain,
By death I shall escape from death,
And life eternal gain.
8 Knowing as I am known,
How shall I love that word,
And oft repeat before the throne,
"For ever with the Lord!"
9 The trump of final doom
Will speak the selfsame word,
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