Though friends were dear, and life was fair,
She saw her Saviour standing there,
Beyond rough Jordan's tide.
Praise, praise to Him, whose faithful hand
Prepared her glorious place,
For us is loss,—for her release,
The robe of rest, the home of peace,—
For us, the pilgrim race.
Praise,—praise for her,—though love and grief
Still mournful vigil kept,—