There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.
Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.
There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.
Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?
Prayer moves the arm Which moves the world, And brings salvation down.
Beyond this vale of tears there is a life above. unmeasured by the flight of years; and all that life is love.