Verse 1
In vain my fancy strives to paint
The moment after death
The glories that surround the saint,
When yielding up her breath.
One gentle sigh her fetters breaks,
We scarce can say, “She’s gone!”
Before her willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.
Verse 2
Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
To trace her in her flight;
No eye can pierce within the veil
Which hides that world of light.
Thus much (and this is all) we know,
She is completely blest
Has done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with her Savior rests.
Verse 3
Her faith and patience, love and zeal,
Should make her memory dear;
And, Lord, do thou the prayers fulfil,
She offered for us here
While she has gained, we losers are,
We miss her day by day;
But thou canst every breach repair,
And wipe our tears away.