Gather up, O earth, thy dead,
Grass! thy peace­ful pil­low spread;
Add an­oth­er mor­tal’s bed
To the bed where mor­tals sleep;
Where they sleep—but not to rise,
When morn’s sun­light clears the skies,
But to rest—while cen­tu­ries
Their long-dur­ing watch­es keep.

Centuries shall pass away,
Earth shall hast­en to de­cay;
Days will bring of days the Day
When the ex­haust­ed cycles end;
Then earth’s ev­ery fu­gi­tive
Shall ap­pear—the grave shall give
Up its dead—the dead shall live,
And the eter­nal Judge des­cend.

Day of won­ders! Day of woe!
Day of ev­il’s ov­er­throw!
Day of joy! when all shall know—
Know, and see the Lord of Heav­en—
Then, Oh, then, may hope ap­pear,
Faith our faint­ing spir­its cheer,
Love dry up the trem­bling tear,
Whispering sweet­ly, Sins for­giv­en.