O BLESSED ones who rest at last
Above all sense of grief and loss,
Who mounted through the thorny past
To find the crown above the cross, —

Forgotten now the prison bars,
The fire, the steel, the martyr pain,
The balm of love has healed the scars,
And only joy and peace remain.

To-day we wreathe no single shrine,
We call no holy name apart,
But turn to all whom Love divine
Has gathered up to His great heart.

Teach us, O spirits glorified,
To climb the heights your feet have trod!
Be still our help whate'er betide,
All-Saints, to lead all souls to God.