Moan not, O bells, but joyous ring out your Christian souls,
Eternity, all wondrous, brightly to them unfolds;
From death to life their changing, let glorias float afar,
Our loved, our lost, are watching, within the gates ajar.

Transition.

The home of my soul, worn and weary,
  And pierced by the rocks of old time,
The windows grown dim and the key-boards
  Were mute to the wind’s whispered chime. 
The pillars were trembling; the pitcher
  Was full to the brim, running o’er
With burdens, hurled oft’ at the fountain,
  And closed were the gates evermore.

Old castle of hopes and of tempests,
  I bid thee a loving adieu,
Thou sheltered me oft’ from the cloud-bursts,
  The winds blowing fiercely on you. 
My soul now arises on pinions,
  And wings through terrestial space,
By planets all gleaming with starlight,
  I stand with my Lord, face to face.

O, Master, I cry, the old temple,
  Thou gavest on earth passed away,
I come to thee houseless, unsheltered,
  Hast room in Thy mansion to-day? 
I left Mother Earth in the night-watch,
  And travelled alone to thy gate,
Hast mercy for me, dearest Master,
  Do I plead for thy pardon too late?

Dear Master, sore trials beset me,
  My feet slipping oft’ by the way,
Temptations and doubt, overwhelming,
  From Thee, led me often astray. 
My cross was oft’ covered with roses,
  Just hiding the sly, cruel thorn,
My homestead built out of dust only,
  Has crumbled; to-day I am born.

Just born in the light of thy kingdom,
  Hast house in thy domain to give? 
A homestead to fill with the loved ones,
  Where with Thee in peace we may live. 
I know that my spirit is earth-stained,
  I’d wash it in yon flowing stream,
I’ve come, oh my Saviour, all broken,
  Are hopes to be only a dream?

He turned with a look of compassion,
  His voice, as sweet waters and low,
My child, I’ve a palace built for thee,
  Which time nor rude winds can o’erthrow. 
I’ve watched thee in all of thy wanderings,
  E’en when thy homestead of clay fell;
I list for thy knock at our portals,
  Heard thee faintly ask, “Is all well?”

When doubts have assailed, I would press thee,
  In sorrow, stood oft’ by thy side;
I’ve quelled maddened waves as they dashed thee,
  Soul, ring heaven’s bells and abide. 
Thy footsteps shall fall in soft places,
  And by mirrored waters can’st roam;
Thy kindred, thy Father, shall greet thee,
  To peace, beauty, love,—­welcome home.

Peace.

Father, before Thee I am kneeling
      In gratitude and love,
Sad, weary years I sought, appealing
      For succor from above. 
My cries seemed wild as unavailing
      Before Thy chastening rod,
My spirit in the strife oft failing
      To trust Thee, O my God!