In endless joy you swing the holy censer,
And blow the trumpet tho' your lips are cold.
Life was to us a mist of intimations,
Death is a flash that shows us where we trod;
You, falling nobly for the righteous nations,
Reveal the unknown, the unhoped-for face of God.
After long toil your labours shall not perish;
Through grateful generations yet to come
Your ardent gesture, dying, Love shall cherish,
And like a beacon you shall guide us home.