The yeoman lays aside his soil-stained smock, And from his herd selects a trusty steed, And sallies forth to help in hour of need; Nor dreads the battle's shock. ...
Somewhere in the realms supernal Is a home prepared for me, Where my joys shall be eternal, And my spirit ever free; Mortal vision helps not here, God conceals it from my sight,...
From God's all bounteous hand descend Rare gifts in rich effusion, And with those gifts no poisons blend, Nor is their end delusion; So do not spurn if He bestow Those forms arrayed in beauty;...
Every tear that dims the eye, Or bedews the careworn cheek, Will our God, who reigns on high, With a hand so kind and meek, Wipe away, nor leave a trace Of its stain on eye or face. ...
The end we sought is not attained, But wisdom has been won, And thus a higher goal is gained. That like the moon has sadly waned, While this shines as the sun.