2 Arise, put on the robes That the redeemed win; Now sorrow hath no part in thee, Thou sanctified within!
3 Awake, and breathe the air Of the celestial clime! Awake to love which knows no change, Thou who hast done with time!
4 Awake, lift up thine eyes! See, all heaven's host appears! And be thou glad exceedingly,-- Thou, who hast done with tears.
5 Ascend! thou art not now With those of mortal birth; The living God hath touched thy lips, Thou who hast done with earth!
1 "No more, on earth no more, Shall beam for us that eye; Closed in a strange forgetfulness Forever it must lie.
2 "No more, on earth no more, Shall we behold that face; Within the mournful halls of death Must be its dwelling-place.
3 "No more, on earth no more, Shall those dear lips be heard; Cold silence there hath fixed its seal, Breathed is their latest word."
4 'Tis so fond Nature mourns Affection's broken ties; But Faith stands forth, she points on high, Serenely she replies:--
5 "No more, in heaven no more, That eye is dim with tears; But bright, and brighter still, the scene Before its view appears.
6 "No more, in heaven no more, That face a shadow bears; But looks of light, born of a bliss Unknown to earth, it wears.
7 "No more, in heaven no more, That voice is faint with pain; It mingles with angelic bands, In their enraptured strain.
8 "No more, in heaven no more, The parting grief is known; But love has all eternity To look through as its own."
1 The dead are like the stars by day, Withdrawn from mortal eye, Yet holding unperceived their way Through the unclouded sky.
2 By them, through holy hope and love, We feel, in hours serene, Connected with a world above, Immortal and unseen.
8 For death his sacred seal hath set On bright and bygone hours; And they we mourn are with us yet, Are more than ever ours;--
4 Ours, by the pledge of love and faith, By hopes of heaven on high; By trust, triumphant over death, In immortality.
1 The spirits of the loved and the departed Are with us, and they tell us of the sky, A rest for the bereaved and broken-hearted, A house not made with hands, a home on high; Holy monitions,--a mysterious breath,-- A whisper from the marble halls of death.
2 They have gone from us, and the grave is strong, Yet in night's silent watches they are near; Their voices linger round us, as the song Of the sweet bird that lingers on the ear, When, floating upward in the flush of even, Its form is lost from earth and swallowed up in heaven.