Dying is but a second birth,
In which the darksome coil of earth
Is shuffled off by mortal men-
And the freed spirit lives again.
The damp, uncomfortable tomb
Is only nature's second womb,
Where man in embryo sleeps, till born
A new existence to adorn.
To die in faith, is to begin
A journey freed from care and sin;
'Tis the first step to bliss-a bliss
Unthought of in a world like this.
To die in hope, is to receive
The brightest prize that Heaven can give;
To enter on a scene of joy
That time can damp not nor destroy.