Little sleep­er, Christ has tak­en
You to dwell with Him on high;
There be­fore the throne you’ll wak­en,
Free from sin or sor­row’s sigh;
While our self­ish love shall mourn,
We know to happ­ier realms you’ve gone.

Lent to us till love has made you
Idol of the earth­ly heart;
God has, in His wis­dom, through you
Taught that here we all must part,
But till in that hap­pi­er land,
Death forms a nev­er part­ing land.

Sin has never marred the beau­ty
Of that an­gel spir­it here;
We sub­mit with Christ­ian du­ty,
Yet can­not restrain the tear:
Help our mourn­ing hearts, O God!
To bow to Thee, and kiss the rod!