When I am dead, O! let it be,
Jesus! for blessed rest in Thee!
Then, though my ear had never known
The rapture of a loving tone,
Nor tender kisses pressed my brow
When heart to heart gave holiest vow,
Nor fame's bewildering music stole
Like a sweet fever through my soul--
I shall lie down as kings do lie,
In royal state and majesty;
Nor cedar need, nor purple fold,
Nor sculptured stone, nor fretted gold,
But find my silent chamber there
Than fairest couch of earth more fair,
For Thou, the King of kings, shalt spread
The pillow for my weary head.
And whether, where I rest alone,
Come foes to scorn or friends to moan,
I shall not heed them--hid in joy,
Nor friend can give, nor foe alloy;
But peaceful sleep, as children slumber
Whose mother's thoughts the minutes number,
For Thou, the Lord, with love divine
Shalt watch beside that grave of mine.