1 It singeth low in every heart,
We hear it each and all;
A song of those who answer not,
However we may call.
2 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.
3 ’Tis hard to take the burden up,
When these have laid it down;
They brightened all the joy of life,
They softened every frown.
4 But, O ’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!
5 More homelike seems the vast unknown
Since they have entered there;
To follow them were not so hard,
Wherever they may fare.
6 They cannot be where God is not,
On any sea or shore;
Whate’er betides, Thy love abides,
Our God, for evermore.
|First Line:||It singeth low in every heart|
|Title:||It Singeth Low in Every Heart|
|Author:||J. W. Chadwick|