God is letting them through.
Sorrow on Account of Death.
With a Spade all golden the Night of Sorrow is digging
Deep in the heart’s confines:
A Dream drifts out with a sable shroud and rigging—
God is working the mines!
Soul Passes Beyond.
In the hands of the angels the cymballine stars are clinking
A wealth of music untold:
For the Rising of Life, as the sun, must follow its sinking—