1 Behold how sweet, how calm, how fair,
The broken bud that slumbers there!
E'er it had bloomed on earth, to die,
It died on earth to bloom on high.

2 Weep not as those who weep in vain,
Nor like the hopeless ones complain;
Our frosted buds, our withered flowers,
Shall spring again in fairer bowers.

3 O blessed hope to mourners given
The hope of union sweet in heaven!
No more to part, no more to weep,
No more to sleep death's silent sleep.

4 Then let this hope our spirits cheer:
The promised morn will soon appear,
The morn that sets the prisoners free,
The morning of eternity.