He sleeps in Jesus—peaceful rest—
No mortal strife invades his breast;
No pain, or sin, or woe or care,
Can reach the silent slumberer there.
He lived, his Saviour to adore,
And meekly all his sufferings bore.
He loved, and all resigned to God;
Nor murmured at his chastening rod.
"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."
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.
He sleeps in Jesus—cease thy grief;
Let this afford thee sweet relief—
That, freed from death's triumphant reign,
In Heaven will he live again. A. R. S.