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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.

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.

CCCV.

Thou art gone to the grave: but we will not deplore thee,

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb:

The Saviour hath pass'd through its portal before thee,

And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the

gloom!

Thou art gone to the grave: we no longer behold

thee,

Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy

side;

But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold

thee,

And sinners may die, for the Sinless has died!

Thou art gone to the grave: and, its mansion forsaking,

Perhaps thy weak spirit in fear linger'd long ; But the mild rays of Paradise beam'd on thy

waking,

And the sound which thou heard'st was the Seraphim's song!

Y

Thou art gone to the grave: but we will not deplore

thee;

Whose God was thy ransom, thy Guardian, and Guide!

He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee;

And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died!

Bishop Reginald Heber. 1827.

CCCVI.

Brother, thou art gone before us; and thy saintly soul is flown

Where tears are wiped from every eye, and sorrow is unknown;

From the burden of the flesh, and from care and fear releas'd,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

The toilsome way thou'st travelled o'er, and borne the heavy load;

But Christ hath taught thy languid feet to reach His blest abode :

Thou'rt sleeping now, like Lazarus upon his father's breast,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

Sin can never taint thee now, nor doubt thy faith

assail,

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit fail:

And there thou'rt sure to meet the good, whom on earth thou lovedst best,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

Earth to earth, and dust to dust, the solemn priest hath said;

So we lay the turf above thee now, and we seal thy narrow bed;

But thy spirit, brother, soars away among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

And when the Lord shall summon us, whom thou hast left behind,

May we, untainted by the world, as sure a welcome

find!

May each, like thee, depart in peace, to be a glorious guest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest!

Henry Hart Milman. 1822.

VIII.

CHURCH DEDICATION,

CCCVII.

Lord of hosts! to Thee we raise
Here a house of prayer and praise:
Thou Thy people's hearts prepare,
Here to meet for praise and prayer!

Let the living here be fed
With Thy Word, the heavenly bread;
Here, in hope of glory blest,
May the dead be laid to rest!

Here to Thee a temple stand
While the sea shall gird the land!
Here reveal Thy mercy sure,
While the sun and moon endure !

Hallelujah! earth and sky

To the joyful sound reply!

Hallelujah! hence ascend

Prayer and praise till time shall end !

James Montgomery. 1825.

CCCVIII.

Angulare Fundamentum.

Christ is our corner-stone,

On Him alone we build ;

With His true saints alone

The courts of Heaven are fill'd:

On His great love

Our hopes we place

Of present grace
And joys above.

O then with hymns of praise

These hallow'd courts shall ring;

Our voices we will raise

The Three in One to sing;

And thus proclaim

In joyful song

Both loud and long

That glorious Name.

Here, gracious God, do Thou
For evermore draw nigh;
Accept each faithful vow,
And mark each suppliant sigh;
In copious shower

On all who pray

Each holy day

Thy blessings pour !

Here may we gain from Heaven
The grace which we implore;
And may that grace, once given,
Be with us evermore,

Until that day

When all the blest

To endless rest

Are call'd away!

John Chandler. 1837.

CCCIX.

The lovely form of God's own Church,

It riseth in all lands;

On mountain sides, in wooded vales,
And by the desert sands.

There is it, with its solemn aisles,

A heavenly, holy thing;

And round its walls lie Christian dead,

Blessedly slumbering.

Though sects and factions rend the world, Peace is its heritage;

Unchanged, though empires by it pass,

The same from age to age.

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