In Memory of
Capt Asahel
Gunn who died
July 11th 1796 in
the 65th Year of
his Age.
My soul my body I do trust,
With him who numbers every Dust,
Our Saviour faithfully will keep,
His own for Death is but a Sleep.
The source is Hymn CCCLVI by John Mason (1646?–1694), originally published in his Spiritual songs: or, Songs of praise with Penitential cries to almighty God. The hymn was widely anthologized, and also appears in The Hartford Selection of Hymns from the Most Approved Authors, 1799. I have no way of telling when and where the person who chose Asahel Gunn’s epitaph first read it.
John Mason was a Calvinist minister and hymn-writer. He wrote more than thirty hymns, which were among the first to be sung in Church of England services (as opposed to metrical Psalms). His innovative works had a significant influence on Isaac Watts.
He also led an extraordinary personal life. In his 30s, beset by hallucinations, severe headaches, and hypersensitivity to noise, he abandoned his regular parochial duties and began to preach exclusively on the Millennium. In the understated words of A Dictionary of Hymnology (ed. John Julian; New York, 1892):
The close of his life was sensational enough. One night, about a month before his death, he had a vision of the Lord Jesus, wearing on His head a glorious crown, and with a look of unutterable majesty on His face. Of this vision he spoke; and preached a Sermon called The Midnight Cry, in which he proclaimed the near approach of Christ’s Second Advent. A report spread, that this Advent would take place at Water-Stratford [Buckinghamshire, Mason’s parish] itself, and crowds gathered there from the surrounding villages. Furniture and provisions were brought in, and every corner of the house and village occupied. Most extraordinary scenes occurred, singing and leaping and dancing. The excitement had scarcely died out when the old man passed away, still testifying that he had seen the Lord, and that it was time for the nation to tremble, and for Christians to trim their lamps.
Here is the complete text of the hymn:
Our life how short! a groan, a sigh,
We live, and then begin to die;
Death steals upon us while we're green,
Behind us digs a grave unseen.
But Oh! how great a mercy this,
That death's a portal into bliss;
While yet the body’s scarce undressed,
The soul ascends to heavenly rest.
My soul! death swallows up thy fears,
My grave-clothes wipe away all tears;
Why should we fear this parting pain,
Who die that we may live again?
Oh! how the resurrection light,
Will clarify believers’ sight;
How joyful will the saints arise
And rub the dust from off their eyes!
My soul! my body I will trust
With him who numbers every dust;
My Savior faithfully will keep
His own--their death is but a sleep.
“Live but to die” is a familiar theme. But that unforgettable image of death quietly digging our grave, unnoticed – that is striking. I have found that first verse from this hymn used as an epitaph in North Coventry, CT (Ira Lillie, died 1823)
