SACRED SONGS

2 Joyful, with all the ſtrength I have, My quiv'ring lips fhould fing, " Where is thy boafted vict'ry, grave? And where the monſter's fting?'

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3 If fin be pardon'd I'm fecure, Death has no fting befide; The law gives fin its damning pow'r ,, But Chrift, my ranfom, died.

4 Now to the God of victory

Immortal thanks be paid, Who makes us conq'rors while we die, Thro' Chrift our living head.

2

XVI.

The felicity of dying in Jefus. Rev. xiv. 13. Ear what the voice from heav'n pro­For all the pious dead,[ claims

I

• Sweet is the favour of their names,

" And foft their fleeping bed.

They die in Jefus and are blefs'd; " How kind their flumbers are! From fuff'rings and from fins releas'd, " And freed from ev'ry fnare.