Their Works Shall Follow Them Poem by John Bowring

I heard a voice which sweetly said,
'Happy, thrice happy are the dead
Who from their earthly labours rest-
They slumber well-for they are blest.'


But while in dust at peace they lie,
The holy memory cannot die
Of deeds of virtue and of praise
Which cheered and crowned their mortal days.


Those deeds can never die, though they
To the cold grave have passed away;
But speed to heav'n and welcoming wait
The spirit at the eternal gate.


And there, around th'Almighty's seat,
In holy concord they shall meet;
A cloud of witnesses-to cheer
The path which leads the spirit there.


Then happy, happy are the dead
Who on their way to heaven have sped;
Whose holy deeds are gone before,
To wait them at th'eternal door.