What is it for a saint to die,
That we the thought should fear?
’Tis but to pass the heav’nly sky,
And leave pollution here.

True, Jordan’s stream is wondrous deep,
And Canaan’s walls are high;
But He, that guards us while we sleep,
Can guide us when we die.

A parting world, a gaping tomb,
Corruption and disease,
Are thorny paths to Heav’n our home,
And doors to endless bliss!

Eternal glo­ry just before,
And Je­sus waiting there,
A heav’nly gale to waft us o’er—
What have the saints to fear?