1 How still and peaceful is the grave!
Where, life’s vain tumults past,
Th’ appointed house, by heav’n’s decree,
Receives us all at last.
2 The wicked there from troubling cease;
There passions rage no more;
And there the weary pilgrim rests
From all the toils he bore.
3 There rest the pris’ners, now releas'd
From slavery’s sad abode;
No more they hear th’ oppressor’s voice,
Or dread the tyrant’s rod.
4 There, servants, masters, small and great,
Partake the same repose;
And there, in peace, the ashes mix
Of those who once were foes.
All, levell'd by the hand of death,
lie sleeping in the tomb;
Till God, in judgment, call them forth,
to meet their righteous doom.
|First Line:||How still and peaceful is the grave!|