Only a ri­ver be­tween us,
Parting our dear ones awhile;
Only a veil that di­vides us,
Hiding the light of their smile:
Only a sigh and a strug­gle,
Only a mo­ment of pain;
Then, mid the splen­dors of Eden,
We shall be­hold them again.

Only a place that is va­cant,
When to our Sav­ior we bend;
Only a strain that is mis­sing,
When our de­vo­tions we blend:
Only a voice, and a foot­step,
Only a clasp of the hand,
Drawing us on­ward and up­ward,
Home to the bright pro­mised land.

Tho’ ’neath the clods of the val­ley
Forms that we cher­ish may sleep,
God has com­mis­sioned His an­gels,
Watch o’er our loved ones to keep.
Only the leaves of the vine-tree,
Wither and lang­uish and die;
God hath trans­plant­ed its branch­es,
Garnered its fruits in the sky.

Only a mo­ment of ang­uish,
When at the Jor­dan we part;
Only a sil­ver cord brok­en,
Hushing each throb of the heart:
After the storm, ’twill be sun­shine,
After our la­bor, re­pose;
Then we shall meet where the morn­ing,
Never, no ne­ver, will close.