2 The bloom of spring, the summer rose, In vain pale winter brave; Nor youth, nor age, nor wisdom knows A ransom from the grave. 3 But morning dawns and spring revives, And genial hours return; So man's immortal soul survives, And scorns the mouldering urn. 4 When this vain scene no longer charms, Or swiftly fades away, He sinks into a Father's arms, Nor dreads the coming day. 552. Peculiar M. H. Ware, Jr. Resurrection of Christ. 1 Lift your glad voices in triumph on high, For Jesus hath risen, and man cannot die: Vain were the terrors that gathered around him, And short the dominion of death and the grave; He burst from the fetters of darkness that bound him Resplendent in glory, to live and to save: Loud was the chorus of angels on high,-- The Saviour hath risen, and man shall not die. 2 Glory to God in full anthems of joy, The being he gave us death cannot destroy: Sad were the life we must part with to-morrow, If tears were our birthright, and death were our end; But Jesus hath cheered the dark valley of sorrow, And bade us, immortal, to heaven ascend: Lift, then, your voices in triumph on high, For Jesus hath risen, and man shall not die. 553. 7s. M. Cudworth. The Same. 1 Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day, Sons of men and angels say; Raise your songs of triumph high: Sing, ye heavens, and, earth, reply. 2 Love's redeeming work is done, Fought the fight, the battle won; Lo our Sun's eclipse is o'er; Lo! he sets in blood no more. 3 Vain the stone, the watch, the seal; Christ hath burst the gates of hell; Death in vain forbids his rise; Christ hath opened paradise. 4 Soar we now where Christ hath led, Following our exalted Head: Made like him, like him we rise; Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. 554. C. M. Sir J. E. Smith. Nature Transitory--the Soul Immortal. 1 See lovely nature raise her head, In various graces dressed; Her lucid robe by ocean spread, Her verdant, flowery vest. 2 How glorious are those orbs of light, In all their bright array, That gem the ebon brow of night, Or pour the blaze of day! 3 One gem of purest ray, divine, Alone disclaims her power; Still brighter shall its glories shine, When hers are seen no more. 4 Her pageants pass, nor leave a trace The soul no change shall fear; The God of nature and of grace Has stamped his image there. 555. C. M. Watts. A Prospect of Heaven. 1 There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; Eternal day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.