Beyond This Vale Of Tears

Here Hyacinths Of Heavenly Blue, Shook Their Rich Tresses To The Morn.

Prayer Moves The Arm Which Moves The World, And Brings Salvation Down.

Dark-green And Gemm'd With Flowers Of Snow, With Close Uncrowded Branches Spread Not Proudly High, Nor Meanly Low, A Graceful Myrtle Rear'd Its Head.

The Dove, On Silver Pinions, Winged Her Peaceful Way.

There Is A Calm For Those Who Weep, A Rest For Weary Pilgrims Found, They Softly Lie And Sweetly Sleep Low In The Ground.