I see them with their heavenward eyes.
⁠Men who in Christ abide;
The long train ceases not to rise
⁠Through time's unceasing tide,
And a grave across each pathway lies
⁠But the path swerves not aside.

Like a chorus which no discords mar,
⁠Sober and clear and grand,
Like a scroll upreaching to a star,
⁠Caught by an angel's hand,
Like a wind beginning from afar,
⁠And covering all the land,

They sound, they pass; each man beholds
⁠The Master's risen face,
Each arm some near beloved enfolds,
⁠Yet keeps its forward place,
The weak one leans, the strong upholds,
⁠But all are in the race.

Up, through the darkness and the pain,
⁠Up, through the joy and light,
Earth's myriad hands are raised in vain
⁠To baffle or invite,
Life shows them nothing to detain,
⁠Death, nothing to affright.

By all things fair their course is graced,
⁠By all things bitter, healed;
Gathering like servants sent in haste
⁠Who, being challenged, yield,
And through the garden on the waste,
⁠Guide to God's happy field.

To them each human loss is gain
⁠Withdrawn or sacrificed,
Nothing but sin was all in vain,
⁠And that, which long enticed,
Falls from each soul and leaves no stain
⁠At the first smile of Christ.

The flock of God goes up and on,
⁠And if, as sin departs,
Some faces from the throng are gone
⁠Leaving some broken hearts,
God, full of pity for his own,
⁠Dries every tear that starts.

The flock of God is strong and swift
⁠And it devours the way,
Longing to see the curtain lift
⁠From the everlasting day;
How slight the toil, how vast the gift,
⁠How weary the delay!

Lord, gather us beneath their feet
⁠As thy good will shall be!
The service of thy saints is sweet
⁠When they are serving thee;
Souls for inheritance unmeet
⁠May serve eternally.