1 'Tis hard, from those we love, to go,
Who weep beside our bed,
Whose tears bedew our burning brow,
Whose arm supports our head:

2 When fading from the dizzy view,
I sought their forms in vain;
The bitterness of death I knew,
And groan'd to live again.

3 'Tis dreadful when th'accuser's pow'r
Assails the sinking heart,
Recalling ev'ry wasted hour,
And each unworthy part.

4 Yet, Jesus, in that mortal fray,
Thy blessed comfort stole,
Like sunshine in an autumn day,
Across my darken'd soul.

5 When soon, or late, this feeble breath
No more to thee can pray,
Support me thro' the vale of death,
And in the darksome way.

6 When cloth'd in fleshly weeds again,
I wait thy dread decree;
Judge of the world, remember then
That thou hast died for me.