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.
Why should we tremble to convey Our dear ones to the tomb? Where once our mighty Saviour lay To take away its gloom.
The grave of every saint is blest, A place of victory made, A symbol of triumphant rest Where burdens are all laid.
Far from this world of toil and strife, They’re present with the Lord: The labours of this mortal life End in a great reward.
Break from God’s throne, illustrious morn! Attend, O earth, God’s word! When from the grave a glorious form Ascends to meet the Lord!
Cento from Isaac Watts, 1674-1748