Thou who has blest my soul with rest,
Now of Thy rest par­tak­est:
My dead spir­it, by Thy death,
Thou from sleep awak­est.

Thou, my life’s breath, art cold in death:
This hath Thy love pro­cur­èd:
Oh the fer­vor of that love
Which e’en death en­dur­èd!

True life I know from Thee doth flow;
Thy voice will me awak­en:
Shall my heart that hopes in Thee
Be with ter­rors shak­en?

This dust that lies, se­cure­ly lies,
And shall be raised im­mor­tal:
Then in light ad­orned, it shall
Burst death’s gloo­my por­tal.

For Thy re­pose from all Thy woes,
Take, Lord, my thank­ful spir­it:
Daily thoughts of thank­ful love,
Lord, Thy death doth mer­it.