It Singeth Low in Every Heart

It sing­eth low in ev­ery heart

We hear it each and all—

A song of those who an­swer not

However we may call;

They throng the si­lence of the breast;

We see them as of yore—

The kind

the true

the brave

the sweet

Who walk with us no more.

’Tis hard to take the bur­den up

When these have laid it down;

They bright­ened all the joy of life

They soft­ened ev­ery frown.

But

Oh

’tis good to think of them

When we are trou­bled sore!

Thanks be to God that such have been

Though they are here no more!

More home-like seems the vast un­known

Since they have en­tered there;

To fol­low them were not so hard

Wherever they may fare.

They can­not be where God is not

On any sea or shore;

Whate’er be­tides

Thy love ab­ides

Our God

for­ev­er­more.