Gashed with honourable scars,Low in Glory's lap they lie;Though they fell, they fell like stars,Streaming splendour through the sky.

Night is the time to weep,To wet with unseen tearsThose graves of memory where sleepThe joys of other years.

There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

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.

Songs of praise the angels sang, Heav'n with alleluias rang, when creation was begun, when God spoke and it was done.

Beyond this vale of tears there is a life above. unmeasured by the flight of years; and all that life is love.

Eternity: a moment standing still for ever.