Shall man, O God of light and life,
Forever mol­der in the grave?
Canst Thou for­get Thy glo­ri­ous work,
Thy pro­mise, and Thy pow­er to save?

But in those si­lent realms of night,
Shall peace and hope no more arise?
No fu­ture morn­ing light the tomb,
Nor day­star gild the dark­some skies?

Cease, cease, ye vain, de­spond­ing fears:
When Christ, our Lord, from dark­ness sprang,
Death, the last foe, was cap­tive led,
And Hea­ven with praise and won­der rang.

Faith sees the bright, eter­nal doors
Unfold, to make His child­ren way;
They shall be clothed with end­less life,
And shine in ev­er­last­ing day.