What is it for a saint to die,
That we the thought should fear?
’Tis but to pass the heav’n­ly sky,
And leave pol­lu­tion here.

True, Jor­dan’s stream is won­drous deep,
And Ca­naan’s walls are high;
But He, that guards us while we sleep,
Can guide us when we die.

A part­ing world, a gap­ing tomb,
Corruption and dis­ease,
Are thor­ny paths to Heav’n our home,
And doors to end­less bliss!

Eternal glo­ry just be­fore,
And Je­sus wait­ing there,
A heav’n­ly gale to waft us o’er—
What have the saints to fear?