He that was dead hath left His tomb;
He lives above their utmost rage,
And we are waiting till He come.
Sabbath songs, songs for the social service at the close of the day, songs for every variety of Christian ordinance, songs especially for the Lord’s Supper, songs of grief as the soul realises the death of the Redeemer, songs of rapture as the salvation becomes apprehensible—
Salvation! O the joyful sound!
Or—
Plunged in a gulf of dark despair.
The first Elegies in our language are among Watts’ hymns. When early manhood has been smitten down in its green prime, how finely swells aloft that grand elegy with its triumphant close, the paraphrase of the text, “He weakened my strength in the way. He shortened my days:”
It is the Lord our Saviour’s hand
Weakens our strength amidst the race: