A Prospect of Heaven Makes Death Easy

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There is a land of pure delight
 Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
 And pleasures banish pain.

There everlasting spring abides,
 And never-withering flowers;
Death like a narrow sea divides
 This heavenly land from ours.

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
 Stand dressed in living green:
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
 While Jordan rolled between.

But timorous mortals start and shrink
 To cross this narrow sea,
And linger shivering on the brink,
 And fear to launch away.

Oh could we make our doubts remove,
 These gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love,
 With unbeclouded eyes;

Could we but climb where Moses stood
 And view the landscape o’er,
Not Jordan’s stream, nor death’s cold flood,
 Should fright us from the shore.

© Isaac Watts