The death of A Believer

Verse 1

In vain my fancy strives to paint The moment after death, The glories that surround a saint, When yielding up his breath.

Verse 2

One gentle sigh his fetters breaks, We scarce can say, "he's gone!" Before the willing spirit takes Its mansions near the throne.

Verse 3

Faith strives, but all its efforts fail, To trace the spirit's flight; No eye can pierce within the veil Which hides that world of light.

Verse 4

Thus much (and this is all) we know, Saints are completely blest; Have done with sin, and care, and woe, And with their Savior rest.

Verse 5

On harps of gold they praise his name, His face they always view; Then let us followers be of them, That we may praise him too.