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.

2 Are we not tending upward, too,

As fast as time can move?

Nor would we wish the time more slow

To keep us from our Love.

3 Why should we tremble to convey

Their bodies to the tomb?

’Twas there the flesh of Jesus lay,

Amid its silent gloom.

4 The graves of all the saints he blest,

And softened every bed;

Where should the dying members rest,

But with their dying Head?

5 Thence he arose, ascending high,

And showed our feet the way;

Up to the Lord our souls shall fly,

At the great rising day.

6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,

And bid our kindred rise:

Awake, ye nations under ground;

Ye saints, ascend the skies.