Henceforth the dead who die in Christ are blest:
Yea, saith the Spirit, for they now shall rest
From all their labours!” But no dull, dark night
That rest o’ershadows: ’tis the day-spring bright
Of bliss; the foretaste of a richer feast;
A sleep, if sleep it be, of lively zest,
Peopled with visions of intense delight.
And though the secrets of that resting-place
The soul embodied knows not; yet she knows
No sin is there God’s likeness to deface,