Brands plucked from burning by the hand of God.
Those robes of theirs are not for these below;
No angel's half so bright!
Whence came that beauty, whence that living glow?
Whence came that radiant white?
Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb,
Fair as the light those robes of theirs became,
And now, all tears wiped off from every eye,
They wander where the freshest pastures lie,
Through all the nightless day of that unfading sky!