We mourn for those who toil,
    The wretch who ploughs the main,
The slave, who hopeless tills the soil
    Beneath the stripe and chain;
For those who in the world's hard race,
    O'erwearied and unblest,
A host of gliding phantoms chase,
    Why mourn for those who rest?

We mourn for those who sin,
    Bound in the tempter's snare,
Whom syren pleasure beckoneth in
    To prisons of despair,—
Whose hearts by whirlwind passions torn
    Are wreck d on folly's shore,
But why in anguish should we mourn
    For those who sin no more?

We mourn for those who weep,
    Whom stern afflictions bend,
Despairing o'er the lowly sleep
    Of lover or of friend,

But they who Jordan's swelling tide
    No more are call'd to stem,
Whose tears the hand of God hath dried,
    Why should we mourn for them?