Isaac Watts(1674–1748)

A Prospect of Heaven Makes Death Easy

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;

D e a t h like a narrow sea divides

This heavenly land f r o m ours.

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood

S t a n d dressed in living green:

So to the Jews old C a n a a n stood,

While J o r d a n rolled between.5

But timorous 0 mortals start 0 and shrinkfearful I recoil

To cross this narrow sea,

And linger shivering on the brink,

And fear to l a u n c h away.

Oh could we make our doubts remove, 0withdraw

T h e s e gloomy doubts that rise,

And see the C a n a a n that we love,

With u n b e c l o u d e d eyes;

C o u l d we but climb where M o s e s stood

And view the l a n d s c a p e o'er,6

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,

Should fright us f r o m the shore.