Early Dead, The

Passed from our sight, within the veil, 
     Still compassed by the Father's care,
Why should our hearts their loss bewail, 
     And sorrow darken to despair ?

In the fresh morning of their life,
     While faith and love glowed pure and warm, 
Called to the guerdon from the strife,
     To the safe haven from the storm —

They breathe the fragrance of the flowers 
     From the fair groves of Eden shed —
Still ours, though gone before, still ours 
     Are they we call the Early Dead.

Beyond the reach of earthly ill,
     They see our grief, yet not condemn ;
And loving us are conscious still 
     Of all the love we feel for them.

Not theirs the haunting fear that throws 
     Its shadow o'er our spirits here,
But perfect trust and sweet repose 
     In heaven's unclouded atmosphere.

Not theirs the bitter sob that speaks,
     The heart that bleeds o'er severed ties, —
No tear-drops glisten on the cheeks 
     Fanned by the airs of Paradise !

Not theirs the weary war with sin,
     The conflict with temptation's lures ;
The perfect rest they enter in,
     Like the dear love of God, endures.

O, better thus than still to know
     The doubts that darken day by day,
And all the care and grief which throw 
     Their shadows o'er our pilgrim way.

For they are safe. Our feet may rove, 
     Wide straying from the narrow path —
They walk in light, upheld by love, 
     Nor power to harm the tempter hath.

Our hopes may fail, but theirs have found
     Fruition in their home on high; 
We still must strive, but they are crowned
     With life and immortality!

Weep not for them, though few the years 
     Their faltering feet life's pathway trod ;
Faith whispers, as we dry our tears,
     "The pure in heart shall dwell with God!"