Whither, oh, whither, now all things are over?
We to our journey and he to his home;
Eyes cannot pierce through the vail that must cover
Him whom we laid in the still silent tomb.
He hath but ended his journey before us,
We for a season are sojourning still
On the same earth with the same heaven o'er us,—
Turn we, oh, turn we, our tasks to fulfill!
Whither, oh, whither, now all things are ended?
We to our labor and he to his rest;