And light, for the pearly gates flew open,
And his ransomed soul went in. And when morning
O’er the mountain fringed each crag and peak with light,
Cold and lifeless lay the leader. God had touched
His eyes with slumber, giving his beloved sleep.
Oh never on that mountain
Was seen a lovelier sight
Than the troupe of fair young angels
That gathered ’round the dead.
With gentle hands they bore him