So much of faith—so much of hope—so much of trusting love,
Seems stereotyped in glowing words on the bright page above,
That glad earth grows less beautiful—less mighty in its power,
And thoughts of death come soothingly in that calm, holy hour.
For who can watch these brilliant wrecks in all their varying forms
Nor feel a yearning wish to reach God’s haven from life’s storms;
To quit this scene of weary strife, of turmoil and unrest,
Hushed in a deep, eternal sleep on the Redeemer’s breast.