Hark! A voice di­vides the sky!
Happy are the faith­ful dead,
In the Lord who sweet­ly die,
They from all their toils are freed.
Them the Spir­it hath de­clared
Blessed, un­ut­ter­ably blessed;
Jesus is their great re­ward,
Jesus is their end­less rest.

Followed by their works they go
Where their Head has gone be­fore;
Reconciled by grace be­low,
Grace has op­ened mer­cy’s door;
Justified through faith alone,
Here they knew their sins for­giv’n,
Here they laid their bur­den down,
Hallowed, and made fit for Heav’n.

Who can now la­ment the lot
Of a saint in Christ de­ceased?
Let the world, who know us not
Call us hope­less and un­blessed:
When from flesh the spir­it freed
Hastens home­ward to return,
Mortals cry, A man is dead!
Angels sing, A child is born!

Born into the world above,
They our hap­py bro­ther greet,
Bear him to the throne of love,
Place him at the Sav­ior’s feet;
Jesus smiles, and says, Well done,
Good and faith­ful ser­vant thou;
Enter, and re­ceive thy crown,
Reign with Me tri­um­phant now.

Angels catch th’ap­prov­ing sound,
Bow, and bless the just award;
Hail the heir with glo­ry crowned,
Now re­joic­ing with his Lord:
Fuller joys or­dained to know,
Waiting for the ge­ne­ral doom,
When th’arch­an­gel’s trump shall blow,
Rise, ye dead, to judg­ment come!