3 Farewell, conflicting hopes and fears, Where lights and shades alternate dwell; How bright th' unchanging morn appears! Farewell, inconstant world, farewell! 4 Life's duty done, as sinks the clay, Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say, "How blessed the righteous when he dies!" 544. C. M. Peabody. The Christian's Death. 1 Behold the western evening light! It melts in deeper gloom; So calm the righteous sink away, Descending to the tomb. The winds breathe low--the yellow leaf Scarce whispers from the tree! So gently flows the parting breath, When good men cease to be. 2 How beautiful, on all the hills, The crimson light is shed! 'Tis like the peace the dying gives To mourners round his bed. How mildly on the wandering cloud The sunset beam is cast! So sweet the memory left behind, When loved ones breathe their last. 3 And lo! above the dews of night The vesper star appears! So faith lights up the mourner's heart, Whose eyes are dim with tears. Night falls, but soon the morning light Its glories shall restore; And thus the eyes that sleep in death Shall wake, to close no more. 545. 7s. M. Anonymous. Dirge. 1 Clay to clay, and dust to dust! Let them mingle--for they must! Give to earth the earthly clod, For the spirit's fled to God. 2 Never more shall midnight's damp Darken round this mortal lamp; Never more shall noon-day's glance Search this mortal countenance. 3 Deep the pit, and cold the bed, Where the spoils of death are laid; Stiff the curtains, chill the gloom, Of man's melancholy tomb. 4 Look aloft! The spirit's risen-- Death cannot the soul imprison; 'Tis in heaven that spirits dwell, Glorious, though invisible. 546. L. M. Watts. The Same. 1 Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb! Take this new treasure to thy trust, And give these sacred relics room To seek a slumber in thy dust. 2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear, Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes Can reach the peaceful sleeper here, While angels watch the soft repose. 3 So Jesus slept; God's dying Son Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed; Then rest, 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! the glorious form Shall then arise to meet the Lord. 547. C. M. Watts. "Blessed are the dead, who die in the Lord." 1 Hear what the voice from heaven proclaims, For all the pious dead; Sweet is the savor of their names, And soft their sleeping bed.