1 He sleeps in Jesus, peaceful rest,
No mortal strife invades his breast;
No pain, nor sin, nor woe, nor care,
Can reach the silent slumberer there.

2 He lives, his Saviour to adore,
And meekly all his sufferings bore:
He loved, and all resigned to God;
Nor murmured at his chastening rod.

3 Does earth attract thee here? they cried;
The dying Christian thus replied,
While pointing upward to the sky,
"My treasure is laid up on high."

4 He sleeps in Jesus soon to rise,
When the last trump shall rend the skies;
Then burst the fetters of the tomb,
To wake in full, immortal bloom.

5 He sleeps in Jesus cease thy grief;
Let this afford thee sweet relief
That, freed from death's triumphant reign,
In heaven he will live again.