China

Why do we mourn departing friends,
Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends
To call them to his arms.

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.

Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.

The graves of all his saints he blest,
And soften'd every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
But with their dying Head.

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.

Then let the last trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground·
Ye saints ascend the skies.