Some of God's truest friends yet dread to die:
Their faith but props the weight of daily need,
And in confusion oft they question why
Beneath the thought of death, it turns a reed.

Beside dear graves God's friends must often weep,
Conning His revelation with a pain:
The promise seems too marvellous to keep,
That dust shall rise and claim its soul again.

The changing chrysalis, the springing seed,
And every miracle that Nature shows
To help weak man hold firmly to his creed,
In some fierce agony for nothing goes.

And though the creed be firm, a pang lies here:
Can what was once so precious to the sight
In any other form be quite so dear?
The human dreads the resurrection-light.

O struggling hearts! in such a mood as this
Not too severely tax your souls with sin:
Doubt not your heirship to eternal bliss,
Because the future throws faint light within.

God sees that some would never be content
To work their work if faith should trench on sight:
The inner eye, on morning's glory bent,
Would make some souls impatient for the night.

God lets faith lend His glory as we need
To do life's duty — rarely for its ease;
But when the hands have wrought their last good deed,
Faith shines in fulness till the spirit sees.