Gone To Rest

She/He hath passed death’s chilling billow,
And gone to rest;
Jesus smoothed her/his dying pillow,
O slumber blest!

When the morn of glory, breaking,
Shall light the tomb,
Beautiful will be thy waking
In fadeless bloom;

Where no wintry winds are blowing,
No burial train,
Crown’d with life’s celestial flowing,
We’ll meet again.

By Annie R. Smith