CXCVI. Departed Saints asleep.

"WHY flow these Torrents of Distress?
(The gentle Saviour cries)
"Why are my sleeping Saints survey'd
"With unbelieving Eyes?

"Death's feeble Arm shall never boast,
"A Friend of Christ is slain;
"Nor o'er their meaner Part in Dust
"A lasting Pow'r retain.

"I come, on Wings of Love I come,
"The Slumb'rers to awake;
"My Voice shall reach the deepest Tomb,
"And all its Bonds shall break.

"Touch'd by my Hand in Smiles they rise;
"They rise to sleep no more;
"But rob'd with Light, and crown'd with Joy
"To endless Day they soar".

Jesus, our Faith receives thy Word;
And, tho' fond Nature weep,
Grace learns to hail the pious Dead,
And emulate their Sleep.

Our willing Souls thy Summons wait
With them to rest and praise;
So let thy much-lov'd Presence chear
These separating Days.