6 Amazing grace, that kept my breath, Nor bid my soul remove, Till I had learn'd my Saviour's death, And well insur'd his love! Hymn 2:3. The death and 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 Are we not tending upward too As fast as time can move? Nor would we wish the hours more slow To keep us from our love. 3 Why should we tremble to convey Their bodies to the tomb? There the dear flesh of Jesus lay, And left a long perfume. 4 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? 5 Thence he arose, ascending high, And shew'd our feet the way; Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly At the great rising day. 6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound, And bid our kindred rise, Awake, ye nations under ground, Ye saints, ascend the skies. Hymn 2:4. Salvation in the cross. 1 Here at thy cross, my dying God, I lay my soul beneath thy love, Beneath the droppings of thy blood, Jesus, nor shall it e'er remove. 2 Not all that tyrants think or say, With rage and lightning in their eyes, Nor hell shall fright my heart away, Should hell with all its legions rise. 3 Should worlds conspire to drive me thence, Moveless and firm this heart should lie; Resolv'd (for that's my last defence) If I must perish, there to die. 4 But speak, my Lord, and calm my fear, Am I not safe beneath thy, shade? Thy vengeance will not strike me here, Nor Satan dares my soul invade. 5 Yes, I'm secure beneath thy blood, And all my foes shall lose their aim, Hosanna to my dying God, And my best honours to his Name. Hymn 2:5. Longing to praise Christ better. 1 Lord, when my thoughts with wonder roll O'er the sharp sorrows of thy soul, And read my Maker's broken laws Repair'd and honour'd by thy cross; 2 When I behold death, hell and sin, Vanquish'd by that dear blood of thine, And see the man that groan'd and dy'd Sit glorious by his Father's side; 3 My passions rise and soar above, I'm wing'd with faith and fir'd with love; Fain would I reach eternal things, And learn the notes that Gabriel sings. 4 But my heart fails, my tongue complains, For want of their immortal strains; And in such humble notes as these Must fall below thy victories. 5 Well, the kind minute must appear When we shall leave these bodies here, These clogs of clay, and mount on high, To join the songs above the sky. Hymn 2:6. A morning song. 1 Once more, my soul, the rising day Salutes thy waking eyes. Once more, my voice, thy tribute pay To him that rolls the skies. 2 Night unto night his name repeats, The day renews the sound, Wide as the heaven on which he sits To turn the seasons round. 3 'Tis he supports my mortal frame, My tongue shall speak his praise; My sins would rouse his wrath to flame, And yet his wrath delays.