There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
They safely lie and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground, low in the ground.

The storms that sweep the wintry sky
No more disturb their deep repose,
Than summer evening’s latest sigh
That shuts the rose, that shuts the rose.

Thy soul renewed by grace divine,
In God’s own image, freed from clay,
In Heav’n’s eternal sphere shall shine,
A star of day, a star of day.

The sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky,
The soul, immortal as its Sire,
Shall never die, shall never die!