And so for me there is no sting of death, And so the grave has lost its victory. It is but crossing-with abated breath And white, set face-a little strip of sea To find the loved ones waiting on the shore, More beautiful, more precious than before.

High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning, Albeit the sun shone bright; Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning, "Remember Night!"

One ship drives east and another drives west With the selfsame winds that blow. Tis the set of the sails And not the gales Which tells us the way to go. Like the winds of the seas are the ways of fate, As we voyage along through the life: Tis the set of a soul That decides its goal, And not the calm or the strife.

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong, And there is gain in this. We do not always win the race By only running right; We have to tread the mountain's base Before we reach its height.

While forced to dwell apart from thy dear face, Love, robed like sorrow, led me by the hand And taught my doubting heart to understand That which has puzzled all the human race.

Better than glory, or honors, or fame, (Though I am striving for those to-day) To know that some heart will cherish my name, And think of me kindly, with blessings, alway.

It is easy to tell the toiler How best he can carry his pack But no one can rate a burden's weight Until it has been on his back