But give out their riches unstinted, nor sigh,
The Lily of the Valley, the Goal of all things.
The song of the Thrush and of plaintive Nightingale
Will merge with the Master’s glorious “all hail,”
In harmony perfect in the end of things.
St. John, the inspired, saw horses in heaven,
And I love to believe even they will be given
Some happier part in the end of all things.
The best of our words and our ways here forgot
Will be gathered and treasured in a hallowed lot,