Till the foundations were laid bare

To the hot, sickened, smoke-filled air.

There in the sight of men it lay,

Our church that we had made so fair!

A heap of ashes white and gray,

With sparks still gleaming here and there.

The sun came out again, and shone

On all our loving work undone—

Our church destroyed, our labour gone!

Gone? Is it gone? God knows it, no!