FAREWELL, dear youth, thy short-lived race is run,
With thee eternal glory is begun;
No longer shall thy head be racked with pain,
Nor shall a teardrop dim thine eyes again.
For thou art sweetly sleeping, gone to rest
Forever on a loving Saviour’s breast;
And though ’tis hard to part with one so dear,
We would not for a moment wish thee here.
Ah no, dear Herbert, thou art happy now,
No gloomy cloud shall ever cross thy brow;
Methinks I hear thee say, “Weep not for me,
My sufferings all are over — I am free.”
We wept to watch thee yield thy parting breath,
And sink exhausted in the arms of death;
’Twas very hard, but oh, what joy it gives,
To look beyond the grave and say, “He lives.”
Yes, Herbert lives beyond the reach of pain,
And we shall shortly see his face again,
Not as we saw it last, but beaming bright,
Radiant with glory and effulgent light.
Dear youth, what joyful hopes our bosoms swell,
E’en as we falter forth the last farewell,
To know that we shall meet thee in that home
Where painful parting words are never known.
There, in our Saviour’s presence, we shall meet,
To praise the grace that brought us to His feet;
And thou, perhaps, among the first shall stand,
To bid us welcome to our Fatherland.