The gospel brings him glorious news.

What though his earthly house decays,
And swiftly sink life's ebbing sands;
He's one eternal in the skies,
Not made by dying, mortal hands.

While friends ask, must you go so soon,
Oh must we part with you to-day?
He, smiling, says, I crave the boon;
Joyful I go without delay.

My Savior cheers the lonely vale,
His smiles of love dispel the gloom;
Oh then how can my courage fail--
Why should I dread the peaceful tomb?

The Savior blest this lowly bed,
And robbed the monster of his sting;
My Lord will raise me from the dead,--
Give me a harp and bid me sing.

Behold this lovely, youthful saint,
In raptures close his dying eyes;
He yields to death without complaint,
And soars triumphant to the skies.

Voracious grave! thou ne'er wast cloy'd!
Thy constant cry has been for more,
Since Abel, thy first victim, died;