And beams from Heaven may light the languid eye;
With sudden burst the failing voice may strive
To join the sweet approaching melody,
Heard when the angel messengers arrive
To bear the spirit hence, in Heaven’s own bliss to live.
III.
O, there are solemn hours which come to all;
The bed of death is aye a solemn place;
To see the saint asleep in Jesus fall,
And leave the world with glory on his face—