Now weeping at the grave we stand

And sow the seed in tears,

The form of him who in our band

On earth no more appears.

Ah no, for he hath safely come

Where we too would attain;

He dwells within our Father's home,

And death to him was gain.

Now he beholds what we believe,

He has what here we want,

The sins no more his soul can grieve

That here the pilgrim haunt;

The Lord hath claim'd him for His own,

And sent him calm release;

We weep, but it is we alone,

He dwells in perfect peace.

He wears the crown of life on high,

He bears the shining palm,

Where angels "Holy, holy," cry,

He joins their glorious psalm.

But we poor pilgrims journey on

Through this dark land of woe,

Until we go where he is gone,

And all his joy shall know.