One Sepulcher, One Little Spot

One se­pul­cher

one lit­tle spot

The pil­grim meek did buy;

Other do­main he seek­eth not

Enough for him that hal­lowed lot

Wherein his dead may lie.

Yet faith in­scribes a pre­cious name

Upon that lone­ly tomb

Which shall to end­less years pro­claim

How hope pur­sues its truth­ful aim

And looks for things to come.

Machpelah must again un­fold

And its loved dead re­store;

The grave may not for ev­er hold

The ash­es in its bo­som rolled;

They sleep to wake once more.

The pro­mise was not said in vain

This land is all thine own;

Machpelah’s dead shall rise again

To share Mes­si­ah’s glo­ri­ous reign

And wear th’un­fad­ing crown.

How blest to live

to die

in faith

And with ex­ult­ing joy

To feel with life’s last ebb­ing breath

How sweet

how pre­cious is the death

Which wafts the soul on high.