The angels that watched round the tomb

Where low the Redeemer was laid,

When deep in mortality’s gloom

He hid for a season his head;

2 That vailed their fair face while he slept,

And ceased their sweet harps to employ,

Have witnessed his rising, and swept

The chords with the triumphs of joy.

3 You saints, who once languished below,

But long since have entered your rest,

I pant to be glorified too,

To lean on Immanuel’s breast.

4 The grave in which Jesus was laid

Has buried my guilt and my fears;

And while I contemplate its shade,

The light of his presence appears.

5 O sweet is the season of rest,

When life’s weary journey is done!

The blush that spreads over its west,

The last lingering ray of its sun!

6 Though dreary the empire of night,

I soon shall emerge from its gloom,

And see immortality’s light

Arise on the shades of the tomb.

7 Then welcome the last rending sighs,

When these aching heartstrings shall break,

When death shall extinguish these eyes,

And moisten with dew the pale cheek.

8 No terror the prospect begets,

I am not mortality’s slave,

The sunbeam of life as it sets,

Paints a rainbow of peace on the grave.