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HYMN 16. Third Part. C.M.
Christ sustained the pains of hell. (cont.)

1	Stoop down to wretchedness and dust, That guilty worms might rise?
2	Yes, the Redeemer in his soul    Sustain'd the pains of hell; The wrath of God without control,    On him our surety fell.
3	He took the dying sinner's place,    And suffer'd in his stead; For man, (O miracle of grace!)    For man the Saviour bled!
4	Dear Lord, what heav'nly wonders dwell    In thy atoning blood! By this are sinners snatch'd from hell,    And rebels brought to God.
5	Jesus, my soul adoring bends,    To love so full, so free; And may I hope that love extends    Its sacred pow'r to me?
6	What glad return can I impart    For favours so divine? O! take my all — this worthless heart,    And make it only thine.

HYMN 16. Fourth Part. C.M.
Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.

1	HEAR what the voice from heav'n proclaims    For all the pious dead; Sweet is the savour of their names,    And soft their sleeping bed.
2	They die in Jesus and are bless'd;    How kind their slumbers are! From suff'rings and from sin releas'd,    And freed from ev'ry snare.
3	Far from this world of toil and strife,    They're present with the Lord;

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HYMN 16. Fourth Part. C.M.
Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord. (cont.)

3	The labours of their mortal life    End in a large reward.

HYMN 16. Fifth Part. L.M.
The saints rest in their grave.

1	SAINTS in their graves lie down in peace, No more by sin or hell opprest; The wicked there from troubling cease, And there the weary are at rest.
2	Thrice happy souls, who're gone before To that inheritance divine! They labour, sorrow, sigh no more, But bright in endless glories shine.
3	There shall we join the blissful throng, And meet our dearest friends again; And, all eternity, our song To Jesus raise, and with him reign.

HYMN 16. Sixth Part. S.M.
Triumph over death.

1	AND must this body die?    This mortal frame decay? And must these active limbs of mine,    Lie mould'ring in the clay?
2	Corruption, earth, and worms,    Shall but refine this flesh; Till my triumphant spirit comes,    To put it on afresh.
3	God, my Redeemer, lives,    And often from the skies Looks down, and watches o'er my dust,    Till he shall bid it rise.
4	Arrayed in glorious grace,    Shall these vile bodies shine; And ev'ry shape, and ev'ry face,    Look heav'nly and divine.