All-Saints' Day (1868)

"But they are at peace."

Never to weary more, nor suffer sorrow,--
Their strife all over, and their work all done:
At peace--and only waiting for the morrow;
Heaven's rest and rapture even now begun.

So tired once! long fetter'd, sorely burden'd,
Ye struggled hard and well for your release;
Ye fought in faith and love--and ye are guerdon'd,
O happy souls! for now ye are at peace.

No more of pain, no more of bitter weeping!
For us a darkness and an empty place,
Somewhere a little dust--in angels' keeping--
A blessèd memory of a vanish'd face.

For us the lonely path, the daily toiling,
The din and strife of battle, never still'd;
For us the wounds, the hunger, and the soiling,--
The utter, speechless longing, unfulfill'd.

For us the army camp'd upon the mountains,
Unseen, yet fighting with our Syrian foes,--
The heaven-sent manna and the wayside fountains,
The hope and promise, sweetening our woes.

For them the joyous spirit, freely ranging
Green hills and fields where never mortal trod;
For them the light unfading and unchanging,
The perfect quietness--the peace of God.

For both, a dim, mysterious, distant greeting;
For both, at Jesus' cross, a drawing near;
At Eucharistic gate a blessed meeting,
When angels and archangels worship here.

For both, God grant, an everlasting union,
When sin shall pass away and tears shall cease;
For both the deep and full and true communion,
For both the happy life that is "at peace."