As when His fierce murderers mocked and defied Him, The Maries still clung to their Master adored, Nor for thrones would have quitted their station beside Him, Their long mournful watch by their crucified Lord; So, unmoved by the scoffs of the foe and blasphemer, I would muse upon all that my Saviour hath borne; Permitted to watch by the dying Redeemer, And gaze on that pale brow encircled with thorn. Oh! let such remembrance be present before me When called on the feast of His love to partake, Let my spirit commune with her Lord now in glory, And trembling behold what He bore for our sake! XLVI. HYMN FOR THE DYING. The day of life is closing, Its last faint beam has fled; Yet faith, on Christ reposing, Can Death’s cold waters tread; The dark sea spreads before me, Upon the brink I stand; Oh, guide me, Lord of Glory, To Heaven’s blissful strand! To Thee, Lord, I flee, My trust is in Thee; “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, thy victory?” No longer here detain me, I hear my Saviour’s voice, I feel His arm sustain me, I triumph and rejoice! The Lord will bless for ever Those who His love have known, Nor life, nor death shall sever The Saviour from His own! Victorious and free His people shall be; “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, thy victory?” XLVIL DEATH IS NOT DREADFUL. Death is not dreadful, no! Though sad affection weeps, The grave is but the cradle where The future seraph sleeps, And smiling Faith her watch above The peaceful slumberer keeps. Death is not dreadful, no! ’Twere terrible to die, E’en to the best, if called to stand Before the Deity Bare in their guilt,—without a friend To meet the Judge’s eye. But oh! the weakest saint May fearless pass the flood, His robe shall shine as white as light Washed in his Saviour’s blood; The Judge Himself shall plead his cause, Who as his Surety stood. Death is not dreadful, no! It bids us reap at last The joyful harvest of our tears, Our toils and trials past; It gives us our inheritance, How glorious and how vast! Death is not dreadful, no! It is the Saviour’s voice Calling His lambs unto the fold; They hear it, and rejoice: In life or death “to be with Christ” This is His servants’ choice. So, when the long night comes, In peace they close their eyes, Humbly confiding in His care Whose love all change defies,— Bowing to His Almighty will, All-merciful, All-wise. Then welcome be the night Preceding endless day, Thrice blessed the Gospel’s glorious light, That chased its gloom away, And showed us life beyond the tomb In Christ, the sinner’s Stay.