1 Go, spirit, of the sainted dead,
Go to thy longed for, happy home:
The tears of man are o’er thee shed;
The voice of angels bids thee come.

2 If life be not in length of days,
In silvered locks, and furrowed brow,
But living to the Savior’s praise,
How few have lived so long as thou!

3 Though earth may boast one gem the less,
May not e’en Heav’n the richer be?
And myriads on thy footsteps press,
To share thy blest eternity.