Go, Spirit of the Sainted Dead

Go

spir­it

of the saint­ed dead

Go to thy longed for

hap­py home:

The tears of man are o’er thee shed;

The voice of an­gels bids thee come.

If life be not in length of days

In sil­vered locks

and fur­rowed brow

But liv­ing to the Sav­ior’s praise

How few have lived so long as thou!

Though earth may boast one gem the less

May not e’en Heav’n the rich­er be?

And my­ri­ads on thy foot­steps press

To share thy blest eter­ni­ty.