The Dying Experience of the Late Rev. Isaac Bridgman

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Jackson & Walford, 1847 - 71 pages
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Page 10 - For thy Maker is thine husband; the Lord of hosts is his name, and thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel; the God of the whole earth shall he be called.
Page 24 - As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
Page 39 - Walk about Zion, and go round about her : Tell the towers thereof. Mark ye well her bulwarks, Consider her palaces ; That ye may tell it to the generation following : For this God is our God for ever and ever : He will be our guide even unto death.
Page 13 - O blest abode ! I shall be near and like my God, And flesh and sin no more control The sacred pleasures of the soul.
Page 51 - THERE is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign, Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain. 2 There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers : Death, like a narrow sea, divides This heavenly land from ours.
Page 70 - Tis He, by His almighty grace That forms thee fit for heaven ; And, as an earnest of the place, Has His own Spirit given. 4 We walk by faith of joys to come ; Faith lives upon His word ; But, while the body is our home, We're absent from the Lord.
Page 38 - No more content afford : Far from my heart be joys like these, Now I have seen the Lord. 3 As by the light of opening day The stars are all concealed, So earthly pleasures fade away, When Jesus is revealed.
Page 46 - Like sheep they are laid in the grave ; death shall feed on them; and the upright shall have dominion over them in the morning ; and their beauty shall consume in the grave from their dwelling. 15 But God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave : for he shall receive me.
Page 38 - Its pleasures now no longer please, No more content afford ; Far from my heart be joys like these, Now I have seen the Lord.
Page 70 - THERE is a house not made with hands, Eternal, and on high; And here my spirit waiting stands, Till God shall bid it fly. 2 Shortly this prison of my clay Must be dissolv'd and fall; Then, O my soul ! with joy obey Thy heav'nly Father's call.

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