Hymn for the Burial of the Dead

Fountain of life, supernal Fire,Who didst unite in wondrous wiseThe soul that lives, the clay that dies,And mad'st them Man: eternal Sire,

Both elements Thy will obey,Thine is the bond that joins the twain,And, while united they remain,Spirit and body own Thy sway.

Yet they must one day disunite,Sunder in death this mortal frame;Dust to the dust from whence it came,The spirit to its heavenward flight.

For all created things must wane,And age must break the bond at last;The diverse web that Life held fastDeath's fingers shall unweave again.

Yet, gracious God, Thou dost deviseThe death of Death for all Thine own;The path of safety Thou hast shownWhereby the doomed limbs may rise:

So that, while fragile bonds of earthMan's noblest essence still enfold,That part may yet the sceptre holdWhich from pure aether hath its birth.

For if the earthy will hold sway,By gross desires and aims possessed,The soul, too, by the weight oppressed,Follows the body's downward way.

But if she scorn the guilt that mars--Still mindful of her fiery sphere--She bears the flesh, her comrade here,Back to her home beyond the stars.

The lifeless body we restoreTo earth, must slumber free from painA little while, that it may gainThe spirit's fellowship once more.

The years will pass with rapid paceTill through these limbs the life shall flow,And the long-parted spirit goTo seek her olden dwelling-place.

Then shall the body, that hath lainAnd turned to dust in slow decay,On airy wings be borne awayAnd join its ancient soul again.

Therefore our tenderest care we spendUpon the grave: and mourners goWith solemn dirge and footstep slow--Love's last sad tribute to a friend.

With fair white linen we enfoldThe dear dead limbs, and richest storeOf Eastern unguents duly pourUpon the body still and cold.

Why hew the rocky tomb so deep,Why raise the monument so fair,Save that the form we cherish thereIs no dead thing, but laid to sleep?

This is the faithful ministryOf Christian men, who hold it trueThat all shall one day live anewWho now in icy slumber lie.

And he whose pitying hand shall laySome friendless outcast 'neath the sod,E'en to the almighty Son of GodDoth that benignant service pay.

For this same law doth bid us mournMan's common fate, when strangers die,And pay the tribute of a sigh,As when our kin to rest are borne.

Of holy Tobit ye have read,(Grave father of a pious son),Who, though the feast was set, would runTo do his duty by the dead.

Though waiting servants stood around,From meat and drink he turned awayAnd girt himself in haste to layThe bones with weeping in the ground.

Soon Heaven his righteous zeal repaysWith rich reward; the eyes long blindIn bitter gall strange virtue findAnd open to the sun's clear rays.

Thus hath our Heavenly Father shownHow sharp and bitter is the smartWhen sudden on the purblind heartThe Daystar's healing light is thrown.

He taught us, too, that none may gazeUpon the heavenly demesneEre that in darkness and in painHis feet have trod the world's rough ways.

So unto death itself is givenStrange bliss, when mortal agonyOpens the way that leads on highAnd pain is but the path to Heaven.

Thus to a far serener dayOur body from the grave returns;Eternal life within it burnsThat knows nor languor nor decay.

These faces now so pinched and pale,That marks of lingering sickness show,Then fairer than the rose shall glowAnd bloom with youth that ne'er shall fail.

Ne'er shall crabbed age their beauty dimWith wrinkled brow and tresses grey,Nor arid leanness eat awayThe vigour of the rounded limb.

Racked with his own destroying painsShall fell Disease, who now attacksOur aching frames, his force relaxFast fettered in a thousand chains:

While from its far celestial throneThe immortal body, victor now,Shall watch its old tormentor bowAnd in eternal tortures groan.

Why do the clamorous mourners wailIn bootless sorrow murmuring?And why doth grief unreasoningGod's righteous ordinance assail?

Hushed be your voices, ye that mourn;Ye weeping mothers, dry the tear;Let none lament for children dear,For man through Death to Life is born.

So do dry seeds grow green again,Now dead and buried in the earth,And rising to a second birthClothe as of old the verdant plain.

Take now, O earth, the load we bear,And cherish in thy gentle breastThis mortal frame we lay to rest,The poor remains that were so fair.

For they were once the soul's abode,That by God's breath created came;And in them, like a living flame,Christ's precious gift of wisdom glowed.

Guard thou the body we have laidWithin thy care, till He demandThe creature fashioned by His handAnd after His own image made.

The appointed time soon may we seeWhen God shall all our hopes fulfil,And thou must render to His willUnchanged the charge we give to thee.

For though consumed by mould and rustMan's body slowly fades away,And years of lingering decayLeave but a handful of dry dust;

Though wandering winds, that idly fly,Should his disparted ashes bearThrough all the wide expanse of air,Man may not perish utterly.

Yet till Thou dost build up againThis mortal structure by Thy hand,In what far world wilt Thou commandThe soul to rest, now free from stain?

In Abraham's bosom it shall dwell'Mid verdant bowers, as Lazarus liesWhom Dives sees with longing eyesFrom out the far-off fires of hell.

We trust the words our Saviour saidWhen, victor o'er grim Death, he criedTo him who suffered at His side"In Mine own footsteps shalt thou tread."

See, open to the faithful soul,The shining paths of Paradise;Now may they to that garden riseWhich from mankind the Serpent stole.

Guide him, we pray, to that blest bourn,Who served Thee truly here below;May he the bliss of Eden know,Who strayed in banishment forlorn.

But we will honour our dear deadWith violets and garlands strown,And o'er the cold and graven stoneShall fragrant odours still be shed.