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BENEDICTION. 88, 78, 49.


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Saints of God! the dawn is bright'ning, To-ken of our com-ing Lord;

O'er the earth the

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field is whit'ning; Louder rings the Master's word,—"Pray for reapers in the harvest


1132 Home Missions.
SAINTS of God! the dawn is brightening,

Token of our coming Lord;
O'er the earth the field is whitening;
Louder rings the Master's word,-

“Pray for reapers
In the harvest of the Lord.”


Broad the shadow of our nation,

2 Now, O Lord! fulfill thy pleasure,

Breathe upon thy chosen band, And, with pentecostal measure, Send forth reapers o'er our land,

Faithful reapers, Gathering sheaves for thy right hand.

TULLY. 78, 68. D.

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1133 Home Missions.
OUR country's voice is pleading,

Ye men of God, arise!
His providence is leading,

The land before you lies; Day-gleams are o'er it brightening,

And promise clothes the soil; Wide fields, for harvest whitening,

Invite the reaper's toil.

Eager millions hither roam;
Lo! they wait for thy salvation;
Come, Lord Jesus ! quickly come!

By thy Spirit,
Bring thy ransomed people home.
4 Soon shall end the time of weeping,

Soon the reaping time will come, Heaven and earth together keeping God's eternal Harvest Home:

Saints and angels! Shout the world's great Harvest Home.

Mrs. Mary Maxwell.

Lowell MASON.



2 The love of Christ unfolding,

Speed on from east to west,
Till all, his cross beholding,

In him are fully blest.
Great Author of salvation,

Haste, haste the glorious day,
When we, a ransomed nation,

Thy scepter shall obey.

Mrs. Maria F. Anderson.

WESLEY. 11s, 10s.

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3 Lo! in the desert rich flowers are The Promise.

springing, HAIL to the brightness of Zion's glad

Streams ever copious are gliding along; morning!

Loud from the mountain-tops echoes are Joy to the lands that in darkness have lain !

ringing, Hushed be the accents of sorrow and

Wastes rise in verdure, and mingle in mourning;

song Zion in triumph begins her mild reign.

4 See, from all lands—from the isles of 2 Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad

the ocean, morning,

Praise to Jehovah ascending on high ; Long by the prophets of Israel foretold; Fallen are the engines of war and commoHail to the millions from bondage return

tion, ing;

Shouts of salvation are rending the sky. Gentile and Jew the blest vision behold.

Thomas Hastings. ST. BARNABAS. 8s, 6s.

J. B. Dyres.


1135 Heralds of the King.

In every place to bring them in;

Where thou, thyself, wilt come. SEND thou, O Lord, to every place Swift messengers before thy face, 4 Gird each one with the Spirit's sword, The heralds of thy wondrous grace,

The sword of thine own deathless word; Where thou, thyself, wilt come.

And make them conquerors, conquering

Lord, 2 Send men whose eyes have seen the King!

Where thou, thyself, wilt come.
Men in whose ears his sweet words ring;
Send such thy lost ones home to bring;

5 Raise up, O Lord the Holy Ghost, Send them where thou wilt come.

From this broad land a mighty host,

Their war-cry, “We will seek the lost, 3 To bring good news to souls in sin;

Where thou, O Christ, wilt come!” The bruised and broken hearts to win;

Mrs. Merrill E. Gates.


1137 Death of the Bighteous. HOW BLEST the righteous when he dies,

When sinks a weary soul to rest! How mildly beam the closing eyes!

How gently heaves the 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. 3 A holy quiet reigns around,

A calm which life nor death destroys; And naught disturbs that peace profound,

Which his unfettered soul enjoys. 4 Life's labor done, as sinks the clay,

Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say,

“How blest the righteous when he dies!”

Mrs. Anna L. Barbauld.




1136 "His Belobed Sleep."
Why should we start, and fear to die?

What timorous worms we mortals are ! Death is the gate of endless joy,

And yet we dread to enter there. 2 The pains, the groans, the dying strife

Fright our approaching souls away; We still shrink back again to life,

Fond of our prison and our clay. 3 Oh, if my Lord would come and meet,

My soulshould stretch her wings in haste, Fly fearless through death's iron gate,

Nor feel the terrors as she passed. 4 Jesus can make a dying bed

Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on his breast I lean my head,

And breathe my life out sweetly there!

Isaac Watts.


1138 “Asleep in Iesus." ASLEEP in Jesus! blesséd sleep! From which none ever wake to weep; A calm and undisturbed repose, Unbroken by the last of foes. 2 Asleep in Jesus! oh, how sweet To be for such a slumber meet ! With holy confidence to sing That death hath lost its venomed sting! 3 Asleep in Jesus! peaceful rest! Whose waking is supremely blest;

No fear -no woe, shall dim the hour
That manifests the Saviour's power.
4 Asleep in Jesus! oh, for me
May such a blissful refuge be:
Securely shall my ashes lie,
And wait the summons from on high.
5 Asleep in Jesus ! far from thee
Thy kindred and their graves may be:
But thine is still a blesséd sleep
From which none ever wake to weep.

Mrs. Margaret Mackay.


Arr. by EMMELAR.

Be · hold the west-ern evening light! It melts in deepening gloom: So calm-ly Christians

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1139 Life's Sunset.
BEHOLD the western evening light!

It melts in deepening gloom:
So calmly Christians sink away,

Descending to the tomb. The winds breathe low, the withering 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 !
'T is like the peace the Christian gives

To mourners round his bed.
How mildly on the wandering cloud

The sunset beam is cast!
'T is like the memory left behind

When loved ones breathe their last. 3 And now above the dews of night

The rising star appears:
So faith springs in the heart of those

Whose eyes are bathed in tears.
But soon the morning's happier light

Its glory shall restore,
And eyelids that are sealed in death

Shall wake to close no more.

1140 “Number Our Days."
BENEATH our feet and o'er our head

Is equal warning given;
Beneath us lie the countless dead,

Above us is the heaven!
Death rides on every passing breeze,

And lurks in every flower;
Each season hath its own disease,

Its peril every hour! 2 Our eyes have seen the rosy light

Of youth's soft cheek decay ;
And fate descend in sudden night

On manhood's middle day.
Our eyes have seen the steps of age

Halt feebly to the tomb;
And yet shall earth our hearts engage,

And dreams of days to come ? 3 Then, mortal, turn! thy danger know;

Where'er thy foot can tread,
The earth rings hollow from below,

And warns thee of her dead !
Turn, mortal, turn! thy soul apply

To truths divinely given:
The dead, who underneath thee lie,
Shall live for hell or heaven!

Reginald Heber.

W. B. 0. Peabody.

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