O Thou, whose love is changeless,
Both now and evermore;
Source of all conscious being!
Thy goodness I adore.
Lord, I would ever praise Thee,
For all Thy love can give;
But most of all, O Father!
I thank Thee that I live.
I live! O ye who loved me!
Your faith was not in vain;
Back through the shadowy valley
I come to you again.
Safe in the love that guides me,
With fearless feet I tread—
My home is with the angels—
O, say not I am dead!
Not dead! O, no, but lifted
Above all earthly strife;
Now first I know the meaning,
And feel the power of life—
The power to rise uncumbered
By woe, or want, or care;
To breathe fresh inspiration
From pure, celestial air;—
To feel that all the tempests
Of human life have passed,
And that my ark, in safety
Rests on the mount at last;
To send my soul’s great longings,
Like Noah’s dove, abroad,
And find them swift returning,
With signs of peace from God;—
To soar in fearless freedom
Through broad, blue, boundless skies
And catch the radiant gleaming
Of love-lit, angel eyes;
To feel the Father’s presence
Around me, near or far,
And see His radiant glory
Stretch onward, star by star;—
To feel those grand upliftings
That know not space nor time;
To hear all discords ending
In harmony sublime;
To know that sin and error
Are dimly understood,
And that which man calls Evil
Is undeveloped Good;—
To stand in spell-bound rapture
On some celestial height,
And see God’s glorious sunshine
Dispel the shades of night;
To feel that all creation
With love and joy is rife;—
This, O my earthly loved ones,
This is Eternal Life!
There, eyes that closed in darkness
Shall open to the morn;
And those whom death had stricken,
Shall find themselves new-born;
The lame shall leap with gladness,
The blind rejoice to see;
The slave shall know no master,
And the prisoner shall be free.
There, the worn and heavy-laden
Their burdens shall lay down;
There, crosses, borne in meekness,
At length shall win the crown;
And lonely hearts that famished
For sympathy and love,
Shall find a free affection
In the angel-home above.
O, children of our Father!
Weep not for those who pass,
Like rose-leaves gently scattered,
Like dew-drops from the grass.
Ay, look not down in sadness,
But fix your gaze on high;
They only dropped their mantles—
Their souls can never die.