Verse 1
While angel-quires their harps employ,
Strung with everlasting joy,
A stranger to receive,
Our joy with sorrow mixt we find,
The widow’d friends he left behind,
And innocently grieve.

Verse 2
Stript of her choicest blessing here,
Nature drops a blameless tear,
From all impatience kept:
Calm we bewail our friend remov’d,
As Jesus mourn’d for his belov’d;
He died; and Jesus wept!

Verse 3
Our loss we solemnly deplore,
Not like men who hope no more
Their ravish’d friend to see,
Sure to o’ertake his parted soul,
In grief, in death, our hope is full
Of immortality.

Verse 4
Superior to ourselves we rise,
Struggle after to the skies,
And antedate the day,
When coming in the clouds we shall
The judge of quick and dead with all
His glorious saints survey.

Verse 5
Amidst that bright ethereal train
We shall find our friend again,
Distinguish’d in the throng,
Our spirits shall his spirit know,
And sing with all we lov’d below
The Lamb’s eternal song.