  Fold the hands and let him rest! He shall sorrow nevermore; Grief has done her worst and best, But his grief is o'er! What to him the dangers dark,— Terrors of the waveless stream? God shall guide the helpless barque Through the shadowed dream! He has fought with storm and strife, He has conquered, all alone; He has plucked the rose of life For his very own. Farewell to the world of sighs! He has laid the burden down; Here each grief and sorrow dies, And he claims the crown! |
|
