Classic Poem

Ah, tender Lord, release at last
The souls whom Thou hast died to save;
The place in which their lot is cast
Is darker than the deepest grave.
Oh, let their eyes discern
The city on the height;
Oh, bring the souls that yearn
Into Thy place of light

They walk no more in busy ways;
They look no more on fields and hills;
They pass alone unnumbered days;
And God their cup with sorrow fills
The city which is fair
Is hidden from their sight;
No sun is needed there,
For Thou art all its light.

Have pity, O incarnate Word.
These were not faithless, but believed;
Thy name with reverence they heard;
And of Thy bounty much received.
And with the happy throng
Let these with joy sit down;
Thy praise their endless song;
And Thou their shining Crown.