Belovèd, sleep,
Thy conflicts now are past,
Life’s battle fought, thy bliss begun,
And thou art crowned at last.

Rest, sweetly rest,
Thy tears are wiped away,
Thy sighing hushed, thy song begun,
And thine eternal day.

Sweet, dreamless sleep,
The Master said, “Well done!”
Thy weary head, upon His breast,
Reclined at set of sun.

We wait in hope
Till Jesus comes again;
We’ll meet thee then, to part to no more,
Beyond the reach of pain.

Belovèd, sleep.

Sleep on, belovèd, sleep, and take thy rest;
Lay down thy head upon the Savior’s breast;
We love thee well, but Jesus loves thee best—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Calm is thy slumber as an infant’s sleep;
But thou shalt wake no more to toil and weep;
Thine is a perfect rest, secure and deep—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until the shadows from this earth are cast,
Until He gathers in His sheaves at last;
Until the twilight gloom be over past—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until the Easter glory lights the skies,
Until the dead in Jesus shall arise,
And He shall come, but not in lowly guise—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until, made beautiful by love divine,
Thou, in the likeness of thy Lord shalt shine,
And He shall bring that golden crown of thine—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Only “Good night,” belovèd—not “farewell!”
A little while, and all His saints shall dwell
In hallowed unison indivisible—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until we meet again before His throne,
Clothed in the spotless robe He gives His own,
Until we know even as we are known—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Silently the shades of evening
Gather round my lowly door;
Silently they bring before me
Faces I shall see no more.

O the lost, the unforgotten,
Though the world be oft forgot!
O the shrouded and the lonely,
In our hearts they perish not!

Living in the silent hours,
Where our spirits only blend,
They, unlinked with earthly trouble,
We, still hoping for its end.

How such holy memories cluster,
Like the stars when storms are past,
Pointing up to that fair heaven,
We may hope to gain at last.

Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb,
Take this new treasure to thy trust,
And give these sacred relics room
To seek a slumber in the dust;
And give these sacred relics room
To seek a slumber in the dust.

Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear
Invades thy bounds, no mortal woes,
Can reach the lovely sleeper here,
And angels watch her soft repose;
Can reach the lovely sleeper here,
And angels watch her soft repose.

So Jesus slept; God’s dying Son
Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed:
Rest here, fair saint, till from His throne
The morning break and pierce the shade;
Rest here, fair saint, till from His throne
The morning break and pierce the shade.

Break from His throne, illustrious morn!
Attend, O earth! His sovereign Word:
Restore thy trust: a glorious form
She must ascend to meet her Lord;
Restore thy trust: a glorious form
She must ascend to meet her Lord!

We cannot think of them as dead
Who walk with us no more;
Along the path of life we tread—
They have but gone before.

The Father’s house is mansioned fair
Beyond our vision dim;
All souls are His, and here or there
Are living unto Him.

But still their silent ministries
Within our hearts have place,
As when on earth they walked with us
And met us face to face.

Ours are they by an ownership
Nor time nor death can free;
For God hath given love to keep
Its own eternally.

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.

Are we not tending upward, too,
As fast as time can move?
Nor would we wish the hours more slow
To keep us from our love.

Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.

The graves of all His saints He blessed,
And softened every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
But with the dying Head?

Thence He arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rising day.

Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye saints, ascend the skies.