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!