2 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?

There once the flesh of Jesus lay,
And scattered all the gloom.

3 The graves of all his saints he blessed,
And softened every bed;

Where should the dying members rest,
But with the dying Head?

4 Thence he arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord we too shall fly,
At the great rising day.

5 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise:

Awake, ye nations under ground!
Ye saints, ascend the skies!

A-men.

409

THE LAND OF PEACE.

H. W. Baker.

HORA QUIETIS.
H. L. Jenner.

I THERE is a blessed home Beyond this land of woe, Where trials never come, Nor tears of sorrow flow;

2 Where faith is lost in sight, And patient hope is crowned, And everlasting light Its glory throws around

3 There is a land of peace; Good angels know it well; Glad songs that never cease Within its portals swell.

4 Look up, ye saints of God! Nor fear to tread below The path your Saviour trod Of daily toil and woe.

A-men.

Ο

FOR the death of those
Who slumber in the Lord!
O be like theirs my last repose,
Like theirs my last reward!

2 Their bodies in the ground,
In silent hope may lie,
Till the last trumpet's joyful sound
Shall call them to the sky.

3 Their ransomed spirits soar

On wings of faith and love,
To meet the Saviour they adore,
And reign with him above.

4 With us their names shall live

Through long succeeding years,
Embalmed with all our hearts can give
Our praises and our tears.

Who slumber in the Lord!
O be like theirs my last repose,
Like theirs my last reward!

A-men.

412

"THE MOTHER OF US ALL."

F. B. P. About A.D. 1600.

FAIR HAVENS, C. M. D.
Aaron Chapin.

I MOTHER dear, Jerusalem,

When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end?
Thy joys when shall I see?
O happy harbor of God's saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow can be found,
Nor grief, nor care, nor toil.

2 No dimming cloud o'ershadows thee,
Nor gloom, nor darksome night;
But every soul shines as the sun,
For God himself gives light.

Thy walls are made of precious stone,
Thy bulwarks diamond-square,

Thy gates are all of orient pearl-
O God! if I were there!

3 Right through thy streets with pleasing sound
The flood of life doth flow,

And on the banks, on either side,
The trees of life do grow.

Those trees each month yield ripened fruit;

For evermore they spring,

And all the nations of the earth

To thee their honors bring.

4

413

There the blest souls that hardly 'scaped

The snare of death and hell,
Triumph in joy eternally,

Whereof no tongue can tell.
O mother dear, Jerusalem!

When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end?

Thy joys when shall I see?

ONE FAMILY.

C. Wesley.

A-men.

3 One army of the living God,
To his command we bow;

Part of the host have crossed the flood,
And part are crossing now.

4 Some to their everlasting home
This solemn moment fly;
And we are to the margin come,
And soon expect to die.

5 Lord Jesus, be our constant guide:

And, when the word is given,

Bid death's cold flood its waves divide,
And land us safe in heaven.

A-men.