How hath the heavy mist that wrapt us round,
The weary mist of tears and soul-wrung sighs,
Lifted, and bared to us the blue profound
Of God’s far quiet skies!
And more than all, how hath a gracious change,
To poor scared men that slunk with fluttering breath,
Passed o’er the face, that erst was stern and strange,
Of thy strong angel, Death!
Lo, through the mazes of a tangled wood,
Nowhither bound, we groped through vistas dim,