How mean appears their spot of birth?
How beautiful their place of rest?
Their voices ring ’mid angel choirs,
And love in sweetness tunes their lyres.
Then ask not life, but joy to know
That sinless they in heaven shall stand;
That death is not a cruel foe
To execute a wise command.
’Tis ours to ask, ’tis God’s to give.—
We live to die—and die to live.