2 Why should we tremble to convey Their bodies to the tomb? There the dear flesh of Jesus lay, And left a long perfume. 3 The graves of all his saints he blest, And softened every bed: Where should the dying members rest, But with their dying Head? 575. 11s. & 10s. M. Spiritual Songs. Invitation to the Mercy-seat. 1 Come, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish; Come, at the mercy-seat fervently kneel: Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. 2 Joy of the desolate, light of the straying, Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying, Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure. 576. 7s. M. J. H. Bancroft. The Christian's Burial. 1 Brother, though from yonder sky Cometh neither voice nor cry, Yet we know for thee to-day Every pain hath passed away. 2 Not for thee shall tears be given, Child of God and heir of heaven; For he gave thee sweet release; Thine the Christian's death of peace. 3 Well we know thy living faith Had the power to conquer death; As a living rose may bloom By the border of the tomb. 4 While we weep as Jesus wept, Thou shall sleep as Jesus slept: With thy Saviour thou shalt rest, Crowned, and glorified and blest. 577. C. M. Anonymous. Peaceful Death of the Righteous. 1 I looked upon the righteous man, And saw his parting breath, Without a struggle or a sigh, Serenely yield to death: There was no anguish on his brow, Nor terror in his eye; The spoiler aimed a fatal dart, But lost the victory. 2 I looked upon the righteous man, And heard the holy prayer Which rose above that breathless form, To soothe the mourners' care, And felt how precious was the gift He to his loved ones gave,-- The stainless memory of the just, The wealth beyond the grave. 3 I looked upon the righteous man; And all our earthly trust Of pleasure, vanity, or pride, Seemed lighter than the dust, Compared with his celestial gain,-- A home above the sky: O, grant us, Lord, his life to live, That we like him may die. 578. L. M. Fergus. At a Funeral. 1 Farewell! what power of words can tell The sorrows of a last farewell, When, standing by the mournful bier, We mingle with our prayers a tear! 2 When memory tells of days gone by, Of blighted hope and vanished joy: Bright hopes that withered like a flower, Cut down and faded in an hour. 3 Give forth thy chime, thou solemn bell, Thou grave, unfold thy marble cell; Oh earth! receive upon thy breast The weary trav'ller to his rest.