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Ah lovely appearance of death

Hymnal: A Pocket Hymn Book #CLXXXII (1791) Lyrics: 1 Ah lovely appearance of death, What sight upon earth is so fair? Not all the gay pageants that breathe, Can with a dead body compare: With solemn delight I survey The corpse, when the Spirit is fled, In love with the beautiful clay, And longing to lie in its stead. 2 How blest is our brother, bereft Of all that could burden his mind; How easy the soul that has left This wearisome body behind! Of evil incapable thou, Whose relics with envy I see, No longer in misery now, No longer a sinner like me. 3 This earth is affected no more With sickness, or shaken with pain, The war in the members is o'er, And never shall vex him again: No anger henceforward, or shame, Shall redden this innocent clay; Extinct is the animal flame, And passion is vanish'd away. 4 This languishing head is at rest, Its thinking and aching are o'er; This quiet immoveable breast Is heav'd by affliction no more; This heart is no longer the seat Of trouble and torturing pain; It ceases to flutter and beat, I never shall flutter again. 5 The lids he so seldom could close, By sorrow forbidden to sleep, Seal'd up in eternal repose, Have strangely forgotten to weep: The fountains can yield no supplies; These hollows from water are free; The tears are all wip'd from these eyes, And evil they never shall see. 6 To mourn and to suffer is mine, While bound in a prison I breathe, And still for deliverance pine, And press to the issues of death: What now with my tears I bedew, O might I this moment become! My spirit created anew, My flesh be consign'd to the tomb! Topics: Funeral Languages: English

Ah lovely appearance of death

Hymnal: A Pocket hymn book, designed as a constant companion for the pious #CLXXXII (1788) Lyrics: 1 Ah lovely appearance of death, What sight upon earth is so fair? Not all the gay pageants that breathe, Can with a dead body compare: With solemn delight I survey The corpse, when the spirit is fled, In love with the beautiful clay, And longing to lie in its stead. 2 How blest is our brother, bereft Of all that could burden his mind; How easy the soul that has left This wearisome body behind! Of evil incapable thou, Whose relics with envy I see, No longer in misery now, No longer a sinner like me. 3 This earth is affected no more With sickness, or shaken with pain, The war in the members is o'er, And never shall vex him again: No anger henceforward, or shame, Shall redden this innocent clay; Extinct is the animal flame, And passion is vanish'd away. 4 This languishing head is at rest, Its thinking and aching are o'er; This quiet immoveable breast Is heav'd by affliction no more; This heart is no longer the seat Of trouble and torturing pain; It ceases to flutter and beat, I never shall flutter again. 5 The lids he so seldom could close, By sorrow forbidden to sleep, Seal'd up in eternal repose, Have strangely forgotten to weep: The fountains can yield no supplies; These hollows from water are free; The tears are all wip'd from these eyes, And evil they never shall see. 6 To mourn and to suffer is mine, While bound in a prison I breathe, And still for deliverance pine, And press to the issues of death: What now with my tears I bedew, O might I this moment become! My spirit created anew, My flesh be consign'd to the tomb! Topics: Funearl Languages: English

Ah! lovely appearance of death

Hymnal: A Pocket hymn-book, designed as a constant companion for the pious #CLXXXII (1790) Lyrics: 1 Ah! lovely appearance of death, What sight upon earth is so fair? Not all the gay pageants that breathe, Can with a dead body compare: With solemn delight I survey The corpse, when the spirit is fled, In love with the beautiful clay, And longing to lie in its stead. 2 How blest is our brother, bereft Of all that could burden his mind; How easy the soul that has left This wearisome body behind! Of evil incapable thou, Whose relics with envy I see, No longer in misery now, No longer a sinner like me. 3 This earth is affected no more With sickness, or shaken with pain, The war in the members is o'er, And never shall vex him again: No anger henceforward, or shame, Shall redden this innocent clay; Extinct is the animal flame, And passion is vanish'd away. 4 This languishing head is at rest, Its thinking and aching are o'er; This quiet immoveable breast Is heav'd by affliction no more: This heart is no longer the seat Of trouble and torturing pain; It ceases to flutter and beat, I never shall flutter again. 5 The lids he so seldom could close, By sorrow forbidden to sleep, Seal'd up in eternal repose, Have strangely forgotten to weep: The fountains can yield no supplies; These hollows from water are free; The tears are all wip'd from these eyes, And evil they never shall see. 6 To mourn and to suffer is mine, While bound in a prison I breathe, And still for deliverance pine, And press to the issues of death: What now with my tears I bedew, O might I this moment become! My spirit created anew, My flesh be consign'd to the tomb! Topics: Funeral Languages: English

A Funeral Hymn

Hymnal: A Selection of Psalms and Hymns #CCCXXVI (1790) First Line: Ah! lovely appearance of death Lyrics: 1 Ah! lovely appearance of death, No sight upon earth is so fair; Not all the gay pageants that breathe, Can with a dead body compare; With solemn delight I survey The corps when the spirit is fled, In love with the beautiful clay, And longing to lie in its stead. 2 How blest is our brother bereft Of all that cou'd burden his mind; How easy the soul that has left This wearisome body behind! Of evil incapable thou, Whose relics with envy I see; No longer in misery now, No longer a sinner like me. 3 This earth is affected no more With sickness, or shaken with pain; The war in the members is o'er, And never shall vex him again: No anger hence forward or shame, Shall redden this innocent clay, Extinct is the animal flame, And passion is vanish'd away. 4 This languishing head is at rest Its thinking and aching are o'er; This quiet immoveable breast Is heav'd by affliction no more; This heart is no longer the seat Of trouble and torturing pain It ceases to flutter and beat, I never shall flutter again. 5 The lids he so seldom could close, By sorrow forbidden to sleep, Seal'd up in eternal repose, Have strangely forgotten to weep: The fountains can yield no supplies, These hollows from water are free; The tears are all wip'd from these eyes, And evil they never shall see. 6 To mourn and to suffer is mine, While bound in a prison I breathe; And still for deliverance pine, And press to the issues of death; What now with my tears I bedew O might I this moment become; My spirit created anew, My flesh be consign'd to the tomb. Languages: English

A Funeral Hymn for a Believer

Hymnal: The Christians Duty, exhibited, in a series of Hymns #II (1791) First Line: Ah! lovely Appearance of Death Lyrics: 1 Ah! lovely Appearance of Death, No Sight upon Earth is so fair; Not all the gay Pageants that breathe, Can with a dead Body compare. 2 With solemn Delight I survey The Corps, when the Spirit is fled, In Love with the beautiful Clay, And longing to lie in his stead. 3 How blest is our Brother, bereft Of all that could burden his Mind? How easy the Soul, that hath left This wearisome Body behind! 4 Of Evil incapable thou, Whose Relicts with Envy I see; No longer in Misery now, No longer a Sinner like me. 5 This Earth is affected no more, With Sickness, or shaken with Pain; The War in the Members is o'er, And never shall vex him again. 6 No Anger henceforward, or Shame, Shall redden this innocent Clay; Extinct is the Animal Flame, And Passion is vanish'd away. 7 This languishing Head is at rest, Its Thinking and Aching are o'er; This quiet immoveable Breast Is heav'd by Affliction no more. 8 This Heart is no longer the Seat Of Trouble and torturing Pain; It ceases to flutter and beat, I never shall flutter again. 9 The Lids he so seldom could close, by Sorrow forbidden to sellp, Seal'd up in eternal Repose, Have strangely forgotten to weep. 10 The Fountains can yield no Supplies, These Hollows from Waters are free! The Tears are all wip'd from these Eyes, And Evil they never shall see. 11 To mourn and to suffer is mine, While bound in a Prison I breathe; And still for Deliverance pine, And press to the Issues of Death. 12 What now with my Tears I bedew, O might I this Moment become, My Spirit created anew, My Flesh be consign'd to the Tomb. Languages: English