When down­ward to the dark­some tomb
I thought­ful turn my eyes,
Frail na­ture trem­bles at the gloom,
And anx­ious fears arise.

Why shrinks my soul? In death’s em­brace
Once Je­sus cap­tive slept;
And an­gels, ho­ver­ing o’er the place,
His low­ly pi­llow kept.

Thus shall they guard my sleep­ing dust,
And, as the Sav­ior rose,
The grave again shall yield her trust,
And end my deep re­pose.

My Lord, be­fore to glo­ry gone,
Shall bid me come away;
And calm and bright shall break the dawn
Of Hea­ven’s eter­nal day.

Then let my faith each fear dis­pel,
And gild with light the grave;
To Him my lof­ti­est prais­es swell,
Who died from death to save.