O, not when the death-prayer is said,
The life of life departs;
The body in the grave is laid,
Its beauty in our hearts.
At holy midnight, voices sweet,
Like fragrance, fill the room;
And happy ghosts, with noiseless feet,
Come brightening through the gloom.
We know who sends the visions bright,
From whose dear side they came;
We veil our eyes before Thy light,
We bless our Father’s name!
This frame, O God, this feeble breath,
Thy hand may soon destroy;
We think of Thee, and feel in death
A deep and holy joy.
Dim is the light of vanished years
In glory yet to come;
O idle grief, O foolish tears,
When Jesus calls us home!