And the scathed heart, made whole,
Turneth in joy above,
To where the spirit freely may expand,
And rove, untrammelled, in that better “land.”
W. D. Gallagher.
Behold the western evening-light!
It melts in deepening gloom;
So calmly Christians sink away,
Descending to the tomb.
The winds breathe low; the withering leaf