O Thou in whom thy saints repose,

When life's brief conflict finds its close,

Behold us met before thy face

To hallow this their resting-place:

Safe are the souls whom thou dost keep;

And safely here their dust shall sleep.

Thou knowest, Lord, for thou hast wept

Beside the tomb where Lazarus slept,

What tears must flow, what hearts must bleed

When here we sow the precious seed:

Thou still rememberest, on thy throne,

Thy garden grave and sealèd stone.

Bid then thy hosts encamp around

This chosen spot of holy ground:

Here let calm hope with memory dwell,

And faith of heavenly comfort tell:

No thought of ill, no footstep rude,

Profane the sacred solitude.

Here when thy mourners shall repair

In lonely grief and trembling prayer,

Lift thou sad hearts and streaming eyes

To those fair glades of Paradise,

Where safe within the guarded gate

Thy ransomed souls in patience wait.

And when the valley, thick with corn,

Shall laugh to see thy harvest-morn,

Here may the angel reapers find

Full many a sheaf for thee to bind,

And in thy golden garner store,

Our fruit of tears for evermore.

Amen.