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O God bid my poor body to ariseOn that bright day triumphant through the skies!

Timothy Salter

O God bid my poor body to ariseOn that bright day triumphant through the skies!

Timothy Salter
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Yet this thou art alive, but if ye soar,My poor frail heart will have beat out its cryAnd sadly miss thy sweet form all the moreWhile helplessly I stand and watch you die.
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Mountains clothed in snowRobed in white against blue skiesMirrored in the lake.
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To them, eternal life beginsAnd God Himself shall wipe away all tears.
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O Weep No More ForMe When I Am Gone!
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Enjoy TheSound Of Silence.
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Ere long this golden light shall pass and fadeExcept all cherish'd mem'ries ye have made.
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