Mine eyes are now closing to rest, My body must soon be removed, And mould'ring lie buried in dust, No more to be envied or loved. Ah! what is this drawing my breath, And stealing my senses away? Oh tell me, my soul, is it death, Releasing me kindly from clay? Now mounting my soul shall descry, The regions of pleasure and love, My spirit triumphant shall fly, And dwell with my Saviour above.