See on her cheek the death rose bloom,
And smile with a deceitful glow;
'Tis the red banner of the tomb,
To warn her friends that she must go.
With bleeding hearts they feel the rod,
And weeping, lay her in the grave,
Yet with submission yield to God,
The precious jewel which he gave.
But when the trump of God shall sound,
To call each sainted sleeper home,