Then kneeling down to Heaven’s eternal King—
The saint, the father, and the husband prays—
Hope “springs exultant on triumphant wings,”
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
Thus ever bask in uncreated rays—,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator’s praise,
In such society, yet still more dear;
While circling time moves round in on eternal sphere.
Compared with this, how poor! religion’s pride