Classic Poem

With the pomp of the Funeral Train,
They bear him, with measured tread,
And such poor tributes of honour and love
As mortals render their dead.

But the Immortal Train
He looked for, has passed hence, long,
Cleaving the depths of the silent sky,
To the land of light and song.

No mute and passive form
That escort of Angels bore!
With a spirit awakened to deathless life
To the Lord of life they soar.

We think of the faithful life
Whose age was the crown of its youth,
Lowly in service, lofty in aim,
Unflinchingly true to truth.

We think of the glorious crowns
By the faithful servants won,
“Abundant entrance,” and rich reward,
And the Master's high “Well done.”

He thought of the mercy that saves,
Of the blood that cleanses from sin,
Of the Angels who bore the beggar home,
And the Saviour's welcome in.

In silence they lay him to rest
By the beloved of years:
No welcome comes from that house of death,
No response to the mourner's tears.

But when that Immortal Train
Swept up through the silent night,
What welcomes many, and deep, and glad,
Thrilled through the mansions of light,

Where, together for evermore,
They dwell in the Father's home,
And look on the face of the Lord they served,
And wait till the rest shall come!