But is it there, the heaven you sing?
     Shall God make whole the rents of life?
And shall our ears no longer ring
     With the old clang of empty strife?
Shall things be fair, yet never fleet?
     Shall laughter be the voice of mirth?
Shall nature's force be soft, and sweet
     With tender memories of earth?
Or, while our friends and lovers weep
     That we have passed death's iron gate,
Shall we be lost in endless sleep,
     Nor dream of those that mourn our fate?