Where verdant fields in beauty rise,
Beyond the withering blasts of time;
And brings the blissful moment near,
When we in glory shall appear.
Then let us hope; 'tis not in vain;
Though moistened by our grief the soil,
The harvest brings us joy for pain,
The rest repays the weary toil;
For they shall reap, who sow in tears,
Rich gladness through eternal years.