Scripture Verse

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

Introduction

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Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Words: Is­aac Watts, Mis­cel­la­ne­ous Thoughts in Prose and Verse 1734. A Fun­er­al Ode at the In­ter­ment of the Bo­dy, Sup­posed to Be Sung by Mourn­ers.

Music: Dirge (Han­del), ar­ranged from George F. Han­del, in The Me­tho­dist Hym­nal (New York: Me­tho­dist Book Con­cern, 1905), num­ber 586 (🔊 pdf nwc).

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George Handel (1685–1759)

Lyrics

Unveil thy bos­om, faith­ful tomb,
Take this new trea­sure to thy trust,
And give these sac­red rel­ics room
To seek a slum­ber in the dust;
And give these sac­red rel­ics room
To seek a slum­ber in the dust.

Nor pain, nor grief, nor anx­ious fear
Invades thy bounds, no mor­tal woes,
Can reach the love­ly sleep­er here,
And an­gels watch her soft re­pose;
Can reach the love­ly sleep­er here,
And an­gels watch her soft re­pose.

So Je­sus slept; God’s dy­ing Son
Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed:
Rest here, fair saint, till from His throne
The morn­ing break and pierce the shade;
Rest here, fair saint, till from His throne
The morn­ing break and pierce the shade.

Break from His throne, il­lus­tri­ous morn!
Attend, O earth! His so­ver­eign Word:
Restore thy trust: a glo­ri­ous form
She must as­cend to meet her Lord;
Restore thy trust: a glo­ri­ous form
She must as­cend to meet her Lord!