Brother thou art gone before us,

And thy saintly soul is flown

Where tears are wiped from every eye,

And sorrow is unknown.

From the burden of the flesh,

And from care and fears released,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

The toilsome way thou’st travelled o’er,

And borne the heavy load;

But Christ hath taught thy languid feet

To reach His blest abode.

Thou art sleeping now like Lazarus

Upon his Father’s breast,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

Sin can never taint thee now,

Nor doubt thy ’faith assail;

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ

And the Holy Spirit fail.

And there thou’rt sure to meet the good

Whom on earth thou lovedst best,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

‘Earth to earth,” and “dust to dust,”

The solemn priest hath said;

So we lay the turf above thee now,

And we seal thy narrow bed.

But thy spirit, brother, soars away

Among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

And when the Lord shall summon us

Whom thou hast left behind,

May we, untainted by the world

As sure a welcome find.

May each, like thee, depart in peace

To be a glorious guest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.