Classic Poem

The roses bloom too late for me;
The violets I shall not see;
Even the snowdrops will not come
Till I have passed from home to home;
From home on earth to home in heaven,
Here penitent and there forgiven.

Mourn not, my Father, that I seek
One Who is strong when I am weak.
Through the dark passage, verily,
His rod and staff shall comfort me;
He shall support me in the strife
Of death, that dieth into life;
He shall support me; He receive
My soul when I begin to live,
And more than I can ask for give.

He from the heaven-gates built above
Hath looked on me in perfect love.
From the heaven-walls to me He calls
To come and dwell within those walls;
With Cherubim and Seraphim
And Angels; yea, beholding Him.
His care for me is more than mine,
Father; His love is more than thine.
Sickness and death I have from thee,
From Him have immortality.
He giveth gladness where He will,
Yet chasteneth His belovèd still.

Then tell me; is it not enough
To feel that when the path is rough,
And the sky dark, and the rain cold,
His promise standeth as of old?
When heaven and earth have passed away,
Only His righteous word shall stay,
And we shall know His will is best.
Behold; He is a Haven Rest,
A Sheltering Rock, a Hiding Place,
For runners steadfast in the race;
Who, toiling for a little space,
Had light through faith when sight grew dim,
And offered all their world to Him.