Why should we start and fear to die?
What ti­mo­rous worms we mor­tals are!
Death is the gate of end­less joy,
And yet we dread to en­ter there.

The pains, the groans, the dy­ing strife,
Fright our ap­proach­ing souls away;
Still we shrink back again to life,
Fond of our pri­son and our clay.

O! If my Lord would come and meet,
My soul should stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fear­less through death’s ir­on gate,
Nor feel the ter­rors as she passed.

Jesus can make a dy­ing bed
Feel soft as dow­ny pil­lows are,
While on His breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweet­ly there.