1 Far from affliction, toil, and care,
The happy soul is fled;
The breathless clay shall slumber here,
Among the silent dead.
2 The Gospel was his joy and song,
E'en to his latest breath;
The truth he had proclaimed so long
Was his support in death.
3 Now he resides where Jesus is,
Above this dusky sphere;
His soul was ripened for that bliss
While ye he sojourned here.
4 The church's loss we all deplore,
And shed the falling tear;
Since we shall see his face no more,
Till Jesus shall appear.
5 But we are hasting to the tomb;
Oh, may we ready stand;
Then, blessed Lord, receive us home,
To dwell at thy right hand.