Not alone the victors free,
Standing by the crystal sea,
Sing the song of victory,
"Risen are Thine own with Thee,"—
We may chant it; even we.
One our life with those above,
One our service, one our love.
Not at death that life begins,
Though a fuller strength it wins;
Freed from all that cramps its might,
Freed from all that bounds its flight,
Freed from all that dims its light.
We upon these lower slopes,
Dim with fears and fitful hopes;
They upon the eternal heights,
Glorious in undying lights,
Radiant in the cloudless Sun;
Yet their life and ours is one.
E'en on us their Sun hath shone,
And for us their Day begun.
And the lowly paths we tread
Are the same where they were led;
Very sacred grown and sweet,
Printed by immortal feet;
Trodden once, long years before,
By His feet whom they adore.
And each service kind and true,
Which to any here we do,
Linked in one immortal chain,
Makes their service live again;
Draws us to the service nigh
Which they render now on high:
For the highest heavens above
Nothing higher know than love.
Hidden are our best with Thee,
Hidden too our life must be;
Since e'en Thou, our Life and Light,
Hidden art from mortal sight:
Yet for us has Life begun,
E'en on us their day hath shone,
Still with theirs our life is one.
The Jewel of the Order of the King's Own.
