O, how blest are ye whose toils are ended! <br />Who, through death, have unto God ascended! <br />Ye have arisen <br />From the cares which keep us still in prison. <br /> <br />We are still as in a dungeon living, <br />Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving; <br />Our undertakings <br />Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings. <br /> <br />Ye, meanwhile, are in your chambers sleeping, <br />Quiet, and set free from all our weeping; <br />No cross nor trial <br />Hinders your enjoyments with denial. <br /> <br />Christ has wiped away your tears for ever; <br />Ye have that for which we still endeavour. <br />To you are chanted <br />Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted. <br /> <br />Ah! who would not, then, depart with gladness, <br />To inherit heaven for earthly sadness? <br />Who here would languish <br />Longer in bewailing and in anguish? <br /> <br />Come, O Christ, and loose the chains that bind us! <br />Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us! <br />With thee, the Anointed, <br />Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blessed-are-the-dead-from-the-german/
