Classic Poem

Where are the eyes we loved,
Tender and full of light?
Where are the hands we held
Stumbling on through the night?
Gone—they are gone as a lamp
Dies, blown out by a breath!
What have you done with our dear ones, Death?

Where, from our eager eyes
Withheld for a bitter space,
Do they wait till our hasting feet
Have brought us face to face?
Let us on to the Land
That shines at the end of the quest,
Where they who passed from our side Rest.

Death, who took them away,
Now they are yours no more;
He who went through the vale
And drank of the cup before
Is Master even of thee,
Yea, thou shalt fall at His word,
For He is over us all
Lord.

On in the storm we strive,
And thou dost lurk in the strife,
Ever subtle and strong
In the very midst of life:
A touch and the face we love
Loses the mystic spark;
We are left in the lonely night
Dark.

Yet we strive in the way,
For out of the gloom a voice
Comes to us, clarion-sweet,
Bidding our souls rejoice,
“I am the Resurrection,”—
Hear what the White Christ saith;
He is thy Lord and Master, Death!