Then cease, my heart, to mourn for Jane,
Since my small loss is her great gain.
I have a hope that cheers my breast,
To think my love has gone to rest;
For while her dying tongue could move,
She praised the Lord for pardoning love.
Shout on, ye heavenly pow’rs above,
While I this lonesome desert rove;
My master’s work will soon be done,
And then I’ll join you in your song.