O world, I now must leave thee,

But little doth it grieve me,

I seek my native land;

True life I there inherit,

And here I yield my spirit

With joy to God's all-gracious hand.

So on His Word relying,

I know while I am dying

I seen shall see His face

Through Christ whose death hath bought me,

The Father's love He brought me,

And now prepares for me a place.

The grave hath lost its terrors

Since for my sins and errors

My Saviour doth atone:

My works can nought avail me,

But His work cannot fail me,

I rest in faith on Him alone.

My service cannot merit

That I should e'er inherit

Eternal life with Christ:

But He hath freely given

A share with Him in heaven

Of that fair heritage unpriced.

And so I hence am going

In peace, full surely knowing

With Him is perfet rest;

I feel Death's icy finger,

My soul here cannot linger,

Now would I stay--to go is best.

O world, I yet would teach thee

That Death will surely reach thee,

That thou must follow me;

Then while thy days are lengthen'd

Pray that thy faith be strengthen'd

That God have mercy too on thee!