Funeral Hymn

Hark, hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb,
"Come, mourner,"it cries, "come away
The grave of thy children has room
To rest thee beside their cold clay:
Thy burden of sorrow lay down,
Escape to the harbour so nigh;
Thy course of affliction is run,
And Mercy permits thee to die!"
The hope of a sudden release,
The token for good I receive,
The blissful assurance of peace,
Which Jesus is ready to give:
It reaches a soul in the deep,
It points to that heavenly shore;
And there I no longer shall weep,
And there I shall suffer no more.