The voice is hushed—the gen­tle voice,
That told us of a Sav­ior’s love;
And made our youth­ful hearts re­joice,
In hope of Heav­en, our home ab­ove.

The eye is dim, the lov­ing eye,
That beamed so fond­ly on us here;
Sealed up in death, the an­xious sigh
No more be­dews it with a tear!

But in the land be­yond the grave,
That voice will swell in rap­tur­ous tone,
The song to Him who died to save,
And bring the wea­ry trav­el­er home.

That eye, with ho­ly ra­di­ance bright,
Shall kin­dle like the stars of ev’n;
Like them shall pierce the shades of night,
And sweet­ly shine on us from Heav’n.

That brow shall wear its glit­ter­ing crown,
When sun and stars no more shall shine;
When death shall lay his scep­ter down—
The grave her em­pire shall re­sign.

Then let us weep as Je­sus wept;
Love hal­low­ing ev­ery gen­tle sigh;
Since in the grave our Sav­ior slept,
The Christ­ian need not fear to die.