4 Of Canaan's land, from Pisgah's top, May we but have a view! Though Jordan should o'erflow its banks, We'll boldly venture through. 540. L. M. Montgomery. The Hour of Death, and Entrance on Immortality. 1 O God unseen--but not unknown! Thine eye is ever fixed on me; I dwell beneath thy secret throne, Encompassed by thy deity. 2 The moment comes when strength must fail, When, health and hope and comfort flown, I must go down into the vale And shade of death, with thee alone: 3 Alone with thee;--in that dread strife Uphold me through mine agony, And gently be this dying life Exchanged for immortality. 4 Then, when th' unbodied spirit lands Where flesh and blood have never trod, And in the unveiled presence stands Of thee, my Saviour and my God: 5 Be mine eternal portion this, Since thou wert always here with me, That I may view thy face in bliss, And be for evermore with thee. 541. L. M. Doddridge. Meditation on Death. 1 Behold the path which mortals tread, Down to the regions of the dead! Nor will the fleeting moments stay, Nor can we measure back our day. 2 Our kindred and our friends are gone; Know, O my soul! this doom my own; Feeble as theirs my mortal frame, The same my way, my home the same. 3 Awake, my soul, thy way prepare, And lose in this each mortal care; With steady feet that path be trod, Which, through the grave, conducts to God. 4 Father! to thee my all I trust; And if thou call me down to dust, I know thy voice, I bless thy hand, And die in peace at thy command. 542. 7s. M. Pope. The Dying Christian to his Soul! 1 Vital spark of heavenly flame! Quit, O quit this mortal frame! Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, O the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life! 2 Hark! they whisper! angels say, "Sister spirit, come away!" What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 3 The world recedes!--it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes!--my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount, I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting? 543. L. M. Mrs. Barbauld. Death of the Righteous. 1 Sweet is the scene when virtue dies! When sinks a righteous soul to rest; How mildly beam the closing eyes, How gently heaves th' expiring breast! 2 So fades a summer cloud away, So sinks the gale when storms are o'er, So gently shuts the eye of day, So dies a wave along the shore.