Let it be in some still dawn,
Pearls of dew upon the lawn,
Love, my staff to lean upon.
Let the breath of dawning be
Fragrance from a wild rose lane--
Memories will ease my pain,
Love, remembered, heals again.
Death is kind and leads to Thee--
I shall walk, not bowed, but straight,
To the tasks that, for me, wait--
Not a harp--beyond Thy Gate.
