Friend af­ter friend de­parts;
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no un­ion here of hearts,
That finds not here an end:
Were this frail world our on­ly rest,
Living or dy­ing, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,
Beyond this vale of death,
There sure­ly is some bless­èd clime
Where life is not a breath,
Nor life’s af­fect­ions tran­si­ent fire,
Whose sparks fly up­ward and ex­pire.

There is a world ab­ove,
Where part­ing is un­known,
A whole eter­ni­ty of love,
Formed for the good alone;
And faith be­holds the dy­ing here
Translated to that hap­pi­er sphere.

Thus star by star de­clines,
Till all are passed away,
As morn­ing high and high­er shines
To pure and per­fect day;
Nor sink those stars in emp­ty night,
But hide them­selves in Heav­en’s own light.