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 I. 
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HYMN XXII. AT LYING DOWN.

[_]

To—“Ah, lovely appearance of death!

And can I in sorrow lay down
My weary and languishing head,
Nor think on the souls that are gone,
Nor envy the peaceable dead!

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The peaceable dead are set free,
The good which I covet they have,
An end of their sorrows they see,
And bury their cares in the grave.
Their souls are impassive above,
And nothing of mortals they know,
Unless on an errand of love
They visit a mourner below;
With pity angelical view
A spirit imprison'd in pain,
And long for his happiness too,
And wait for his bursting the chain.
Ye souls of the righteous, appear,
If any are waiting around,
To look on a spectacle here,
In iron and misery bound;
Survey the sad children of men,
The purchase of mercy Divine,
And say, if ye ever have seen
A soul so afflicted as mine.
When will the affliction be o'er,
When will the fierce agony cease!
With those that are gather'd before,
I press to the haven of peace:
I would as a shadow remove,
And suddenly vanish away,
Escape to the spirits above,
Ascend to the regions of day!