Who bade disease and pain be gone,
And called the sleeping dead to rise.
3See how he loved, who never shrank
From toil or danger, pain or death;
Who all the cup of sorrow drank,
And meekly yielded up his breath.
4Such love can we unmoved survey?
O may our breasts with ardor glow,
To tread his steps, his laws obey,
And thus our warm affections show.