4 There endless crowds of sinners lie,
And darkness makes their chains;
Tortur'd with keen despair they cry,
Yet wait for fiercer pains.
5 Not all their anguish and their blood
For their old guilt atones,
Nor the compassions of a God
Shall hearken to their groans.
6 Amazing grace, that kept my breath,
Nor bid my soul remove,
Till I had learn'd my Saviour's death,
And well insur'd his love!
Hymn 2:3.
The death and burial of a saint.
1 Why do we mourn departing friends
Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends
To call them to his arms.
2 Are we not tending upward too
As fast as time can move?
Nor would we wish the hours more slow
To keep us from our love.
3 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.
4 The graves of all his saints he bless'd,
And soften'd every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
But with the dying head?
5 Thence he arose, ascending high,
And shew'd our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly
At the great rising day.
6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise,
Awake, ye nations under ground,
Ye saints, ascend the skies.