1 "Why flow these Torrents of Distress?"
(The gentle Saviour cries)
"Why are my sleeping Saints survey'd
"With unbelieving Eyes!

2 "Death's feeble Arm shall never boast,
"A Friend of CHRIST is slain;
"Nor o'er their meaner Part in Dust
"A lasting Power retain.

3 "I come, on Wings of Love I come,
"The Slumb'rers to awake;
"My Voice shall reach the deepest Tomb,
"And all its Bonds shall break.

4 "Touch'd by my Hand, in Smiles they rise;
"They rise to sleep no more;
"But rob'd with Light and crown'd with Joy,
"To endless Day they soar."

5 JESUS, our Faith receives thy Word;
And, tho' fond Nature weep,
Grace learns to hail the pious Dead,
And emulate their Sleep.

6 Our willing Souls thy Summons wait
With them to rest and praise;
So let thy much-lov'd Presence cheer
These separating Days.