Death—strangely new, though ever old!
The soul is in the eye to-day,
And hope drives lurking shades away—
To-morrow funeral bells are tolled.

And some yield bickeringly their breath
Because they leave a life of mirth,
But some, bowed down by woes to earth,
Smile when they hear the step of death.

Such have been given stones for bread,
Their days been cursed by cruel fates,
Yet through the far-off open gates
They see the sweet rest of the dead—

They see the rest, the long sweet rest
From hopeless anguish, tearful grief,
And know that they will find relief
With Him who pities the oppressed.