Thou canst, when anguish rends the heart, The secret woe control; The inward malady canst heal— The sickness of the soul. Thou canst repress the rising sigh, Thy gracious eye is watchful still, And the devouring grave. Eternal source of life and health, And every bliss we feel! In sorrow and in joy, to thee HYMN XXV. The Peaceful Death of the Just Man. BEHOLD the western evening light, PEABODY. The winds breathe low;-the withering leaf Scarce whispers from the tree; So gently flows the parting breath When good men cease to be. How beautiful on all the hills The crimson light is shed! 'Tis like the peace the just man gives To mourners round his bed. How mildly on the wandering cloud 'Tis like the memory left behind, HYMN XXVI. Rest of the Righteous. OH, sweet and sacred is the rest And sanctified his funeral bed. BOWRING. Upon his grave the moonlight beam And if the sad and sorrowing tear HYMN XXVII. Steadfastness in Virtue. AMIDST a world of hopes and fears, H. MOORE. Shed down, O Lord, a heavenly ray, Teach me the flattering paths to shun, May never pleasure, wealth, or pride, HYMN XXVIII. BOWRING. The Righteous shall be in everlasting Remembrance. EARTH's transitory things decay, Its pomps, its pleasures pass away; As 'midst the ever-rolling sea, Fret, dash, and break themselves in vain : As in the heavens, the urns divine, Though clouds may darken, storms may rage, So through the ocean-tide of years, Happy the righteous! come what may, Belongs to immortality. Safety of the Virtuous. He who walks in virtue's way, On he speeds, and speeds securely : Hope's sweet angels fly before him. Thus he moves from stage to stage, Softly sinking down in age, And at last to death descending: Cradled in its quiet deep, Calm as summer's loveliest even, He shall sleep the hallowed sleep- HYMN XXX. Pleasure of Benevolence. Oн, sweeter than the fragrant flower At evening's dewy close, The will united with the power, To succour human woes ! DRENNAN. And softer than the softest strain Of music to the ear, The placid joy we give and gain, 'Tis he who scatters blessings round, Adores his Maker best; His walk through life is mercy-crowned, His bed of death is blest. HYMN XXXI. ALEXANDER POPE. Universal Prayer. FATHER of all! in ev'ry age, In ev'ry clime ador'd, Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confin'd, To know but this, that thou art good, Yet gave me, in this dark estate What conscience dictates to be done, This teach me more than hell to shun, What blessings thy free bounty gives, For God is paid when man receives, |