A weary pilgrim sat,

Above a gloomy stream,

A lamp he firmly held

Shed round a cheerful gleam:

It showed that river’s farther banks,

Crowded with wistful spirit ranks.

He cometh to the stream,

Adown a rough ravine,

The lamp still in his hand

By friends above is seen;

And friends beyond can see him come,

His lamp reveals him through the gloom.

Now mid the rushing tide,

The Faithful One he sees

With arms spread open wide,

To bear him into Peace:

And in the world where he is gone,

They need no lamp nor light of sun.