I see them with their heavenward eyes.
⁠Men who in Christ abide;
The long train ceases not to rise
⁠Through time's unceasing tide,
And a grave across each pathway lies
⁠But the path swerves not aside.

Like a chorus which no discords mar,
⁠Sober and clear and grand,
Like a scroll upreaching to a star,
⁠Caught by an angel's hand,
Like a wind beginning from afar,
⁠And covering all the land,

They sound, they pass; each man beholds
⁠The Master's risen face,
Each arm some near beloved enfolds,
⁠Yet keeps its forward place,
The weak one leans, the strong upholds,
⁠But all are in the race.

Up, through the darkness and the pain,
⁠Up, through the joy and light,
Earth's myriad hands are raised in vain
⁠To baffle or invite,
Life shows them nothing to detain,
⁠Death, nothing to affright.

By all things fair their course is graced,
⁠By all things bitter, healed;
Gathering like servants sent in haste
⁠Who, being challenged, yield,
And through the garden on the waste,
⁠Guide to God's happy field.

To them each human loss is gain
⁠Withdrawn or sacrificed,
Nothing but sin was all in vain,
⁠And that, which long enticed,
Falls from each soul and leaves no stain
⁠At the first smile of Christ.

The flock of God goes up and on,
⁠And if, as sin departs,
Some faces from the throng are gone
⁠Leaving some broken hearts,
God, full of pity for his own,
⁠Dries every tear that starts.

The flock of God is strong and swift
⁠And it devours the way,
Longing to see the curtain lift
⁠From the everlasting day;
How slight the toil, how vast the gift,
⁠How weary the delay!

Lord, gather us beneath their feet
⁠As thy good will shall be!
The service of thy saints is sweet
⁠When they are serving thee;
Souls for inheritance unmeet
⁠May serve eternally.

Dreaming of kindlier, warmer suns,
⁠Dreaming of happier hours,
We dwell in a future that never sheds
⁠O'er our heads its living flowers;
In fancy we gather with eager glee
What fate dooms to perish in infancy.

The youth is dreaming of laurels won
⁠On the battle-field of life,
He sees the hour of triumph near,
⁠Nor recks of the years of strife;
Yet his flashing eye shall be sunk and dim
Ere the victor's wreath may be wove for him.

The maiden dreameth the dearest dream
⁠The human heart may treasure,
Of a sun-lit home where faith and love
⁠Flow forth in ceaseless measure;
Let her dream, — nor whisper the future brings
No rainbow hues on its darkening wings.

Let them dream — they will rouse at duty's call,
⁠Eager for nobler doing,
Will catch the light on her steel-crowned helm,
⁠And turn from fancy's wooing,
And visions of love and of fame will die
As the sunset gleam from the wintry sky.

And yet, — though the dreams of earth be fair,
⁠God grant that a dreamless sleep
May seal the eyes that have learned too well
⁠O'er waking thoughts to weep;
Till a morn shall break in their dazzled sight,
Crowning earth's dreams with a truer light.

The song-bird singeth on the bough,
⁠His song is never sad;
The bough is frail, the wind is high,
⁠And yet his song is glad, —
⁠⁠He knoweth he hath wings.

That carol riseth higher yet
⁠When morning turneth night to day,
And still some notes when passing clouds
⁠Obscure the heavenly ray, —
⁠⁠He knoweth he hath wings.

O Thou whose voice the spirits hear,
Speak to our souls in doubt or fear,
⁠⁠And tell us we have wings;

Bid every dark misgiving cease,
And all be confidence and peace, —
⁠⁠Oh tell us we have wings.