Steps glide gently to and fro,
Still—'mid woe—our hearts remember
We are there to soothe that woe.
'Comes at last the hour of mourning,
Solemn tolls the funeral bell;
And we feel that no returning
Fate allows to such farewell:
Still a holy hope shines o'er us;
We wept by the One who died;
And 'neath earth shall death restore us;