Thine ag­ony, O Lord, is o’er,
And vic­to­ry for­ev­er­more
Is ours through Thy great pas­sion.
Earth had for Thee no peace in store
Till peace was our pos­ses­sion.

Now rest Thee, gen­tle Shep­herd blest,
Who ’mid this throng hast found no rest,
Nor in a home abid­ed.
The shel­ter life from Thee with­held
The grave alone pro­vid­ed.

O si­lent grave! O blest re­treat
A re­fuge for my Sav­ior meet,
No long­er dark and nar­row!
Like Him, I en­ter thee con­tent,
Released from toil and sor­row.

O sleep of death, O night pro­found,
My Lord hath set for thee a bound:
His pro­mise I re­mem­ber.
Like Him, tri­um­phant I shall come
From out that peace­ful cham­ber.