Hush! blessèd are the dead
In Je­sus’ arms who rest,
And lean their weary head
Forever on His breast.

O beatific sight!
No darkling veil between,
They see the Light of Light,
Whom here they loved unseen.

For them the wild is past,
With all its toil and care;
Its withering midnight blast,
Its fiery noonday glare.

Them the Good Shepherd leads,
Where storms are ne­ver rife,
In tranquil dewy meads,
Beside the Fount of Life.

Ours only are the tears,
Who weep around their tomb,
The light of bygone years
And shadowing years to come.

Their voice, their touch, their smile,
Those love-springs flowing o’er;
Earth for its little while
Shall ne­ver know them more.

O tender hearts and true,
Our long last vigil kept,
We weep and mourn for you;
Nor blame us: Je­sus wept.

But soon at break of day
His calm al­migh­ty voice,
Stronger than death, shall say,
Awake! Arise! Rejoice!