Who, from the gloomy shades of night,
When the last tear of hope is shed,
Can bid the soul return to light,
And break the slumber of the dead?
No human skill that heart can warm,
Which the cold blast of nature froze;
Recall to life the perished form,
The secret of the grave disclose.
But Thou, our saving God, we know,
Canst arm the mortal hand with power;
To bid the stagnant pulses flow,
The animating heat restore.
Thy will, ere nature’s tutored hand
Could with young life, these limbs unfold,
Did the imprisoned brain expand,
And all its countless fibers told.
As from the dust, Thy forming breath
Could the unconscious being raise;
So can the silent voice of death
Wake at Thy call, in songs of praise.
Since twice to die is ours alone,
And twice the birth of life to see;
O let us, suppliant at Thy throne,
Devote our second life to Thee.