1 Viewed only by the feeble rays
The lamp of human wisdom lends,
How dark the providential ways
That rob us of our dearest friends!

2 But yesterday we looked on them
Whose years we counted far ahead!
When, lo! the morrow’s sun looked down
And they we loved so well, are dead.

3 With eyes bedimmed and bated breath
We look upon the pallid face,
And wonder why the Angel Death
Should call them to his cold embrace.

4 But, no! We’ll not think thus of them;
’Tis but the mortal that is mute;
The same keen frost that breaks the bur
Will sweeten and mature the fruit.

5 ’Tis hard when earthly ties are torn;
The heart will bleed—God made it so;
But, O beside the pointed thorn
The fragrant rose of hope will grow.

6 We would not quell our heaving breast;
We would not check the tears that fall;
For they who knew our loved ones best
Know, too, that they deserve them all.

7 But though today we weep for them,
Whose voice is hushed, whose hands are chill,
We look beyond this house of clay,
And think of them as living still.

8 To us their memory shall be dear,
And when we sing of Jesus’ love,
We’ll list! Perhaps our hearts may hear
The same sweet song from them above.