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."