I know of a sleep in Je­sus’ name,
A rest from all toil and sor­row;
Earth folds in her arms my wea­ry frame
And shel­ters it till the mor­row.
My soul is at home with God in Heav’n;
My sor­rows are past and ov­er.

I know of a peace­ful ev­en­tide
And when I am faint and wea­ry,
At times with the jour­ney sore­ly tried,
Thro’ hours that are long and drea­ry,
Then oft­en I yearn to lay me down
And sink in­to bliss­ful slum­ber.

I know of a morn­ing, bright and fair
When tid­ings of joy shall wake us,
When songs from on high shall fill the air
And God to His glory take us,
When Je­sus shall bid us rise from sleep;
How joy­ous that hour of wak­ing!

Oh, that is a morn­ing dear to me,
And oft, o’er the mount­ains stream­ing,
In Spir­it its heav’n­ly light I see
As golden the peaks are beaming.
Then sing I for joy like birds at dawn
That carol in lofty lindens.

God’s Son to our graves then takes His way,
His voice hear all tribes and nations;
The portals are rent that guard our clay,
And moved are the seas’ foundations.
He calls out aloud: Ye dead, come forth!
In glory we rise to meet Him.

O Jesus, draw near my dying bed
And take me into Thy keeping
And say when my spirit hence is fled,
This child is not dead, but sleeping.
And leave me not, Savior, till I rise
To praise Thee in life eternal.