Blessed are the Dead

By Simon Dach

Oh, how blest are ye whose toils are ended! / Who, through death, have unto God ascended! / Ye have arisen / From the cares which keep us still in prison.

We are still as in a dungeon living, / Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving; / Our undertakings / Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings.

Ye meanwhile, are in your chambers sleeping, / Quiet, and set free from all our weeping; / No cross nor trial / Hinders your enjoyments with denial.

Christ has wiped away your tears for ever; / Ye have that for which we still endeavor. / To you are chanted / Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted.

Ah! who would not, then, depart with gladness, / To inherit heaven for earthly sadness? / Who here would languish / Longer in bewailing and in anguish?

Come, O Christ, and loose the chains that bind us! / Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us! / With Thee, the Anointed, / Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed.