Burial Hymns

832 Burial of a Saint

1 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.

2 Why should we tremble to convey Their bodies to the tomb?

There the dear flesh of Jesus lay, And left a long perfume.

3 The graves of all His saints He bless'd, And soften'd every bed: Where should the dying members rest, But with the dying Head?

4 Thence He arose, ascending high, And show'd our feet the way;

Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly, At the great rising day.

5 Then let the last loud trumpet sound, And bid our kindred rise;

Awake, ye nations, under ground;

Ye saints, ascend the skies.

Isaac Watts, 1709.

833 "Blessed are the Dead that die in the Lord."

1 HEAR what the voice from heaven proclaims For all the pious dead.

Sweet is the savour of their names, And soft their sleeping bed.

2 They die in Jesus, and are bless'd;

How kind their slumbers are! From sufferings and from sins 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 large reward.

Isaac Watts, 1709

834 The Grave a Bedchamber

1 UNVEIL thy bosom, faithful tomb;

Take this new treasure to thy trust, And give these sacred relics room To seek a slumber in the dust.

2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear, Invades thy bounds; no mortal woes Can reach the lovely sleepers here; And angels watch their soft repose.

3 So Jesus slept: God's dying Son Pass'd through the grave, and blest the bed, Rest here, dear saint, till from His throne The morning break, and pierce the shade,

4 Break from His throne, illustrious morn Attend, O earth, His sovereign word;

Restore thy trust, a glorious form:

He must ascend to meet his Lord.

Isaac Watts, 1734

835 Housed and Happy

1 OH happy they, who safely housed, To Jesus' bosom fly, Before the storm of wrath is roused;

Yes, happy they who die

2 Care, pain, and grief, the wild array Of sorrows felt below, The dread of trial's fiery day, Of persecution's glow;

3 All, all is o'er, with those at rest, For Jesus' sake forgiven! No heavings of the anxious breast, No sickening fear, in heaven.

4 Why linger then, with strange desire, Where reeks the deadly strife, And shrink, unwilling to retire, To everlasting life?

5 Oh were it not for those he leaves Lone in a desert land, 'Tis wondrous when a Christian grieves To find his home at hand.

Ann Gilbert, 1842.

836

Submission

1 PEACE!—tis the Lord Jehovah's hand That blasts our joys in death, Changes the visage once so dear, And gathers back the breath.

2 'Tis He—the Potentate supreme Of all the worlds above, Whose steady counsels wisely rule, Nor from their purpose move.

3 Our covenant God and Father He, In Christ our bleeding Lord; Whose grace can heal the bursting heart With one reviving word.

4 Fair garlands of immortal bliss He weaves for every brow; And shall tumultuous passions rise, If He corrects us now?

5 Silent I own Jehovah's name, I kiss the scourging hand; And yield my comforts, and my life To Thy supreme command.

Philip Doddridge, 1755.

837 Funeral of a Young Person

1 WHEN blooming youth is snatch'd away By death's resistless hand, Our hearts the mournful tribute pay, Which pity must demand.

2 While pity prompts the rising sigh, Oh may this truth, impress'd With awful power—"I too must die!"

Sink deep in every breast.

3 Let this vain world engage no more:

Behold the gaping tomb!

It bids us seize the present hour:

To-morrow death may come.

4 The voice of this alarming scene, May every heart obey; Nor be the heavenly warning vain, Which calls to watch and Dray.

5 Oh, let us fly—to Jesus fly, Whose powerful arm can save;

Then shall our hopes ascend on high; And triumph o'er the grave.

6 Great God, Thy sovereign grace impart, With cleansing, healing power; This only can prepare the heart For death's surprising hour.

Anne Steele, 1760

838 Consolation concerning a Minister's Death

1 NOW let our mourning hearts revive, And all our tears be dry;

Why should those eyes be drown'd in grief, Which view a Saviour nigh?

2 What though the arm of conquering death, Does God's own house invade;

What though the prophet and the priest Be numbered with the dead?

3 Though earthly shepherds dwell in dust, The aged and the young, The watchful eye in darkness closed, And mute the instructive tongue;

4 The eternal Shepherd still survives, New comfort to impart; His eye still guides us, and His voice Still animates our heart.

5 "Lo, I am with you," saith the Lord, "My church shall safe abide; For I will ne'er forsake My own, Whose souls in Me confide."

6 Through every scene of life and death, This promise is our trust; And this shall be our children's song, When we are cold in dust.

Philip Doddridge, 1755