Yet is the voice of comfort heard,
  For Christ hath touched the bier -
The bearers wait with wondering eye,
The swelling bosom dares not sigh,
  But all is still, 'twixt hope and fear.

E'en such an awful soothing calm
  We sometimes see alight
On Christian mourners, while they wait
In silence, by some churchyard gate,
  Their summons to this holy rite.

And such the tones of love, which break
  The stillness of that hour,
Quelling th' embittered spirit's strife -
"The Resurrection and the Life
  Am I: believe, and die no more."

Unchanged that voice—and though not yet
  The dead sit up and speak,
Answering its call; we gladlier rest
Our darlings on earth's quiet breast,
  And our hearts feel they must not break.

Far better they should sleep awhile
  Within the Church's shade,
Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth,
Meet for their new immortal birth
  For their abiding-place be made,

Than wander back to life, and lean
  On our frail love once more.
'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
  How grows in Paradise our store.

Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on,
  Through prayer unto the tomb,
Still, as ye watch life's falling leaf,
Gathering from every loss and grief
  Hope of new spring and endless home.

Then cheerly to your work again
  With hearts new-braced and set
To run, untired, love's blessed race.
As meet for those, who face to face
  Over the grave their Lord have met.