1 Brother, thou art gone before us,
And thy saintly soul is flown,
Where tears are wiped from every eye,
And sorrows are unknown;
From the burden of the flesh,
And from care and fear, released,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

2 Sin no more can taint thy spirit,
Nor can doubt thy faith assail;
Thy soul its welcome has received,
Thy strength shall never fail;
And thou'rt sure to meet the good,
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

3 To the grave thy body bearing,
Low we place it mid the dead;
And lay the turf above it now,
And seal its narrow bed;
But thy spirit soars away,
Free, among the faithful blest,
Where the wicked cease from troubling
And the weary are at rest.