1 How still and peaceful is the grave!
where, life’s vain tumults past,
th’ appointed house, by Heav’n’s decree,
receives us all at last.
2 The wicked there from troubling cease;
their passions rage no more;
and there the weary pilgrim rests
from all the toils he bore.

3 There rest the pris’ners, now releas'd
from slav'ry’s sad abode;
no more they hear th’ oppressor’s voice,
or dread the tyrant’s rod.
4 There servants, masters, small and great,
partake the same repose;
and there, in peace, the ashes mix
of those who once were foes.

5 All, levell'd by the hand of Death,
lie sleeping in the tomb;
till God, in judgment calls them forth,
to meet their final doom.