Amid things mortal, in a land of graves,
A land o'er which the heavy-beating waves
Of changing time move on, a land where raves
The storm, which whoso braves
Must have his anchor fixed
Firmly within the vail—;
So let my anchor be;
Such be my consolation and my hope!
Thou art amid the sorrowless, I here
Amid the sorrowing: and yet not long