Creation speaks with awful voice—
Hark! 'tis a universal groan
Re-echoes through the vast extent
Of worlds unnumbered called to mourn.

For sickness, sorrow, pain and death,
With awful tyranny have reigned;
While all eternity has shed
Her tears of sorrow o'er the slain.

But hark, again; a voice is heard,
Resounding through the sullen gloom;
A mighty conquerer has appear'd,
And rose triumphant from the tomb.

No longer let creation mourn;
Ye sons of sorrow, dry your tears;
Life—life—eternal life is ours,
Dismiss your doubts, dispel your fears.

The King shall soon in clouds descend,
With all the heav'nly hosts above;
The dead shall rise and hail their friends,
And always dwell with those they love.

No tears, no sorrow, death or pain,
Shall e'er be known to enter there;
But perfect peace, immortal bloom,
Shall reign triumphant ev'ry where!