O world, I now must leave thee,
But little doth it grieve me,
I seek my native land;
True life I there inherit,
And here I yield my spirit
With joy to God's all-gracious hand.

So on His Word relying,
I know while I am dying
I seen shall see His face
Through Christ whose death hath bought me,
The Father's love He brought me,
And now prepares for me a place.

The grave hath lost its terrors
Since for my sins and errors
My Saviour doth atone:
My works can nought avail me,
But His work cannot fail me,
I rest in faith on Him alone.

My service cannot merit
That I should e'er inherit
Eternal life with Christ:
But He hath freely given
A share with Him in heaven
Of that fair heritage unpriced.

And so I hence am going
In peace, full surely knowing
With Him is perfet rest;
I feel Death's icy finger,
My soul here cannot linger,
Now would I stay--to go is best.

O world, I yet would teach thee
That Death will surely reach thee,
That thou must follow me;
Then while thy days are lengthen'd
Pray that thy faith be strengthen'd
That God have mercy too on thee!