O sweet and sacred is the rest
Round the departed Christian's breast;
Serene the pillow of his head,
And sanctified his funeral bed.
Upon his grave the moonlight beam
Shines smiling-and the dews on him
Fall soft as on the loveliest flow'r
That decks the field or crowns the bow'r.
And if the sad and sorrowing tear
Be sometimes shed in silence there;
Religion's ray that tear shall light,
And make it as a dew-drop bright.
Then on the earth's maternal breast
In peaceful hope and joy we'll rest;
And yield us to death's slumber deep,
As infants calmly sink to sleep.