Scripture Verse

Weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth. Luke 8:52


Sarah Doudney (1841–1926)

Words: Sar­ah Doud­ney, Psalms of Life (pub­lished by Houls­ton), 1871.

Music: Ah­vaz Ira D. San­key, 1884 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Ira D. Sankey (1840–1908)


Each mem­ber of the Ma­son­ic Quar­tet of Pitts­burgh [Penn­syl­van­ia] re­cent­ly re­ceived a check and a note of thanks for sing­ing at the fun­er­al of Cap­tain S. S. Brown. An unu­su­al sto­ry was al­so made pub­lic there­by.

In the last hours of the turf king’s life, one of the dai­ly pap­ers says, he had an in­ter­val in which his mind was clear. He called his daugh­ter-in-law and asked if she would take on her­self the task of see­ing that The Chris­tian’s Good Night was sung at his fun­er­al; and he told her, in a dis­joint­ed way, of a dream from which he had just awak­ened.

He had thought him­self dead, and there were four min­is­ters tak­ing part in his fun­er­al. He named the min­is­ters and said that one of them had brok­en down while mak­ing an ad­dress, and that an­oth­er, nam­ing this min­is­ter al­so, had ta­ken up the ad­dress.

Cap­tain Brown said that he awoke as all were sing­ing, The Chris­tian’s Good-night, and that he had joined with them in the sing­ing. The dy­ing man smiled faint­ly at the pic­ture he drew, but begged his daugh­ter-in-law to re­mem­ber her prom­ise.

The words of this hymn were oc­ca­sioned by the death of a friend. They were hand­ed to me at Bris­tol, Eng­land.

I wrote the mu­sic soon af­ter­ward, and sang it at the fun­er­al of Charles H. Spur­geon, the great Lon­don preach­er. It has since be­come ve­ry use­ful on two con­ti­nents as a fun­er­al hymn.

Sankey, pp. 259–60


Sleep on, be­lov­èd, sleep, and take thy rest;
Lay down thy head up­on the Sav­ior’s breast;
We love thee well, but Je­sus loves thee best—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Calm is thy slum­ber as an in­fant’s sleep;
But thou shalt wake no more to toil and weep;
Thine is a per­fect rest, se­cure and deep—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until the sha­dows from this earth are cast,
Until He ga­thers in His sheaves at last;
Until the twi­light gloom be ov­er past—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until the East­er glo­ry lights the skies,
Until the dead in Je­sus shall arise,
And He shall come, but not in low­ly guise—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until, made beau­ti­ful by love di­vine,
Thou, in the like­ness of thy Lord shalt shine,
And He shall bring that gold­en crown of thine—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Only Good night, be­lov­èd—not fare­well!
A lit­tle while, and all His saints shall dwell
In hal­lowed uni­son in­di­vi­si­ble—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Until we meet again be­fore His throne,
Clothed in the spot­less robe He gives His own,
Until we know ev­en as we are known—
Good night! Good night! Good night!

Christ Resurrects the Daughter of Jairus
Friedrich Overbeck (1789–1869)