Old-Line Primitive Baptist Hymn and Tune Book

717 (C.M.) Joseph Swain

What is it for a saint to die

That we the thought should fear?

'Tis but to pass the heav'nly sky

And leave pollution here.

True, death's cold stream is wondrous deep,

And heaven's walls are high,

But He that guards us while we sleep

Can guide us when we die.

A parting world, a gaping tomb,

Corruption and disease,

Are thorny paths to heav'n, our home,

The place of endless bliss.

Eternal glory just before,

And Jesus waiting there,

A heav'nly gale to waft us o'er —

What have the saints to fear?