(To us how long, to them how brief!)
The compensation and the balm,
The victor’s wreath, the conqueror’s palm—
They see the healing laid to grief,
They see unfold the perfect life.
For all our blind, impatient pain,
Our desolate and sore estate,
They see the door that open is
Of Heaven’s abundant treasuries,
The comforts and the cures that wait