Burial of the Dead

The journey done,
The Best begun,
The day of death now ended;

To life above.
On wings of Love,
The freed-one hath ascended:

What we do weep
The Christ doth keep,
He died that He might save it;

The body trust
We to the dust, —
The soul, to God who gave it.

Our tears must fall
At loss of all
That time cannot restore us;

But to the skies
Well lift our eyes
And think of what's before us:

There, safe above
With Him whose Love
For all its want provideth,

The spirit blest
In changeless rest
Of Paradise abideth.

Your muffled chime.
Ye bells of time,
Ring out with chasten'd gladness.

The happy soul
Needs not your toll.
As if it dwelt in sadness:

Toil for the dead
Who, living, tread
Earth's sinful ways, hard hearted;

But a bright chime.
Ye bells of time.
Ring out for Christ s departed.

Their war&re o'er.
Now never more
Shall sin or sorrow grieve them;

Against that day.
Not far away,
In holy earth we leave them:

What we do weep
The Christ doth keep.
He died that He might save it;

The body trust
We to the dust, —
The soul, to God who gave it.