  How beautiful the roses bloom Around the portals of the tomb! How fair the meek white lilies grow From elements of death below! How tender and serenely bright The stars light up the depths of night! Thus beauty unto ruin clings, And light from deepest darkness springs; The Soul its noblest strength must gain Through ministries of grief and pain; Great victories only come through strife, And death is but the gate of life. The ocean waves that darkly flow, Sweep over priceless pearls below; The tempest cloud, when wild winds rest, Builds up the rainbow on its breast, And truths, unseen when all is bright, Shine like the stars in sorrow’s night. O Thou, in whom the vine bears fruit! In whom the violets take their root, For Thee the summer roses blow; For Thee the fair white lilies grow; And from Thine all-sustaining heart The Soul’s immortal currents start. O, when the circle, made complete, Shall in thy boundless being meet, We feel, we know, that we shall be Made perfect in our love to Thee; That good will triumph in that hour, And weakness be exchanged for power. |
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