It singeth low in ev’ry heart,
We hear it each and all;
A song of those who answer not,
However we may call;
They throng the silence of the breast,
We see them as of yore,–
The kind, the true, the brave, the good,
Who walk with us no more.
‘Tis hard to take the burden up,
When those have laid it down;
They brightened all the joy of life,
They softened ev’ry frown;
But, oh! ’tis good to think of them
When we are troubled sore;
Thanks to God that such have been,
Although they be no more.
More homelike seems the vast unknown,
Since they have entered there;
To follow them were not so hard,
Wherever they may fare.
They cannot be where God is not,
On any sea or shore;
Whate’er betides Thy love abides,
Our God forever more!
John W. Chadwick/Hubert P. Main