1
Why do we mourn for dying friends,
Or shake at death’s alarms?
’Tis but the voice that Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms.
2
Are we not tending upward too,
As fast as time can move?
Nor should we wish the hours more slow,
To keep us from our love.
3
Why should we tremble to convey,
Their bodies to the tomb?
There once the flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.
4
The graves of all his Saints he blest,
And soften’d every bed:
Where should the dying members rest,
But with their dying Head?
5
Thence he arose, ascending high,
And show’d our feet the way:
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rising day.
6
Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations underground;
Ye Saints, ascend the skies.