1 Death! ’tis an awful word,
And fills the mind with fear;
But joyful is a dying bed,
If Thou, oh God, art near.
2 Let but my numerous sins
Behind Thy back be cast.
The poisonous sting of death is gone,
The bitterness is past.
3 To unbelieving man,
Wrath quickly follows death;
The dreaded portion he receives,
When he resigns his breath.
4 To mortals all around,
He looks for help in vain;
Nor means, nor ministers, nor friends
Can mitigate his pain.
5 But let sufficient grace
In my last hours be giv’n,
Twill spread a luster over death,
And be the dawn of Heav’n.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #16254