The star is not ex­ting­uished when it sets
Upon the dull ho­ri­zon; it but goes
To shine in oth­er skies, then re-appear
In ours, as fresh as when it first arose.

The ri­ver is not lost, when, o’er the rock,
It pours its flood in­to th’ab­yss below:
Its scat­tered force re-ga­ther­ing from the shock,
It hast­ens on­ward, with yet full­er flow.

The bright sun dies not, when the sha­dow­ing orb
Of the eclips­ing moon ob­scures its ray:
It still is shin­ing on; and soon to us
Will burst un­dimmed in­to the joy of day.

The li­ly dies not, when both flow­er and leaf
Fade, and are strewed up­on the chill sad ground:
Gone down for shel­ter to its mo­ther-earth,
’Twill rise, re-bloom, and shed its frag­rance round.

The dew­drop dies not, when it leaves the flow­er,
And pass­es up­ward on the beam of morn:
It does but hide it­self in light on high,
To its loved flow­er at twi­light to re­turn.

The fine gold has not per­ished, when the flame
Seizes up­on it with con­sum­ing glow:
In fresh­ened splen­dor it comes forth anew,
To spar­kle on the mon­arch’s throne or brow.

Thus no­thing dies, or on­ly dies to live:
Star, stream, sun, flow­er, the dew-drop, and the gold,
Each good­ly thing, in­stinct with buoy­ant hope,
Hastes to put on its pur­er, fin­er mold.

Thus in the qui­et joy of kind­ly trust,
We bid each part­ing saint a brief fare­well:
Weeping, yet smil­ing, we com­mit their dust
To the safe keep­ing of the si­lent cell.

Softly with­in that peace­ful rest­ing place,
We lay their wear­ied limbs; and bid the clay
Press light­ly on them, till the night be past,
And the far east give note of com­ing day.

The day of re-ap­pear­ing! how it speeds!
He who is true and faith­ful speaks the word.
Then shall we ev­er be with those we love,
Then shall we be for ev­er with the Lord.

The shout is heard; th’arch­an­gel’s voice goes forth;
The trum­pet sounds; the dead awake and sing;
The liv­ing put on glo­ry; one glad band,
They hast­en up to meet their com­ing king.

Short death and dark­ness! End­less life and light!
Short dim­ming; end­less shin­ing in yon sphere,
Where all is in­cor­rupt­ible and pure;
The joy with­out the pain, the smile with­out the tear.