To the home of the blest where all sorrowings end,
O, will not a parent, a sister, a friend,
Haste to welcome us there?
Shall we see no loved form we have gazed on before,
To commune with of times that are faded and o’er?
Will the “dear chosen few” be remembered no more
In that haven of bliss?
O my heart must believe, ’mid ethereal chimes
A gloom would steal over my spirit sometimes,
If the friends I have loved, in these heavenly climes,