Oh, how blest are ye
whose toils are ended!
Who, through death, have
unto God ascended!
Ye have arisen
From the cares which keep
us still in prison.
We
are still as in a dungeon
living,
Still oppressed with
sorrow and misgiving;
Our undertakings
Are but toils, and
troubles, and
heart-breakings.
Ye meanwhile, are in
your chambers sleeping,
Quiet, and set free from
all our weeping;
No cross nor trial
Hinders your enjoyments
with denial.
Christ has wiped away
your tears for ever;
Ye have that for which we
still endeavor.
To you are chanted
Songs which yet no mortal
ear have haunted.
Ah! who would not,
then, depart with
gladness,
To inherit Heaven for
earthly sadness?
Who here would languish
Longer in bewailing and
in anguish?
Come, O Christ, and
loose the chains that
bind us!
Lead us forth, and cast
this world behind us!
With Thee, the Anointed,
Finds the soul its joy
and rest appointed.
