He dies, the happy Indian dies,

Closes his eyes to earth, and flies

Up to the regions of the skies.

Angelic legions lead the way,

To the portals of celestial day.

Wide spreads the news, all Heaven rings,

Angels and ransomed spirits wave their wings,

All lowly bending to the King of kings;

Mingling their loftiest harmonies,

Their sweetest, softest melodies,

High Heaven’s eternal Minstrelsies,

With harp and voice and choral symphonies,

Loud as the sounding of ten thousand seas!

They shout him welcome to his heavenly Home:

“John Paul has come! John Paul has come!”

Bear the glad tidings far

As the remotest star!

Let every tongue,

The shout prolong!

Sound the Redeemer’s praise,

In loudest, loftiest lays!

Your noblest anthems raise

To everlasting days,

To Him who bought him

With His precious blood,

To Him who brought him

To this bright Abode

Of perfect blessedness,

And Everlasting Peace,

“The Bosom of his Father and his God!”