ONE by one through death's dark portal
Out of sight they pass
Into life no longer mortal,
Withering as the grass.
Some depart amid the brightness
Of the genial hours,
As the hawthorn sheds the whiteness
Of its fading flowers.
Others pass when mists are creeping
Over plain and hill;
Motionless as marble sleeping,
And as marble still.
Then awakes the voice of sorrow
And bereavement's cry;
Ever on some coming morrow
Some beloved must die.
Sad indeed did death's dark angel
End our troubled way;
Were there no divine evangel
Of eternal day.
Nay, by grace of God is granted
A triumphant close
Oft to simple faith, 'undaunted
By the last of foes.
How could dying seem terrific
Or a blank surprise,
When the Vision Beatific
Lights the Christian's eyes?
When a glory past all thinking
Dawns upon the gaze,
What if earthly lights be sinking
With declining rays!
Here and there such highly favored
Souls I too have known:
Ah, dear trust, that never wavered,
Be it, Lord, our own!