FUNERAL HYMN.
Reading edition
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. PRATT.
Creation speaks with awful voice— Hark! 'tis a universal groan Re-echoes through the vast extent Of worlds unnumbered called to mourn. For sickness, sorrow, pain and death, With awful tyranny have reigned; While all eternity has shed Her tears of sorrow o'er the slain. But hark, again; a voice is heard, Resounding through the sullen gloom; A mighty conquerer has appear'd, And rose triumphant from the tomb. No longer let creation mourn; Ye sons of sorrow, dry your tears; Life—life—eternal life is ours, Dismiss your doubts, dispel your fears. The King shall soon in clouds descend, With all the heav'nly hosts above; The dead shall rise and hail their friends, And always dwell with those they love. No tears, no sorrow, death or pain, Shall e'er be known to enter there; But perfect peace, immortal bloom, Shall reign triumphant ev'ry where!