O weep not for the dead, whose life is hid
With the dear Lord of life ; but let your tears
Flow for the living, — for the girt with fears
And cares and sorrows, wanderers amid
Earth's snares and pitfalls, whom the Fates forbid
To rest from toil for long laborious years;
For whom no guiding star of hope appears
To light the gloomy pathways which they thrid.
But for the holy dead, their rest is sure !
Trials, temptations, pains with them are o'er.
Heart-ache, despair, they know, thank God! no more,
But taste a bliss all perfect and secure.
Weep for the living! for between their souls
And heaven, how many a turbid torrent rolls.
