Oh, How Blest Are They

Oh, how blest are they whose toils are ended,
Who through death have unto God ascended!
They 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 heartbreakings.

They meanwhile are in their chambers sleeping,
Quiet and set free from all our weeping;
No cross or sadness
There can hinder their untroubled gladness.

Christ has wiped away their tears forever;
They have that for which we still endeavor,
By them are chanted
Songs that ne'er to mortal ears were granted.

Come, 0 Christ, and loose the chains that bind us;
Lead us forth and cast this world behind us.
With You, the Anointed,
Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed.