Let not a voice of weeping rise—,
My heart is girt with power
Let the green earth and festal skies
Laugh, as to grace a conqueror's closing hour!
For thee, for thee, my bosom's lord!
Thee, my soul's loved! I die;
Thine is the torch of life restored,
Mine, mine the rapture, mine the victory.
Now may the boundless love, that lay
Unfathomed still before