A thousand gates
Lead to the grave; and through the weary years
The race of men, through bitter, blinding tears,
Have seen the forms they loved most enter there
Where ever waits
An open road on which all feet must fare.
One only gate
Leads from the grave; one portal outward swings.
’Tis one alike for peasants and for kings.
Beside it lies a stone that’s rolled away;
And, soon or late,
God’s people shall fare forth into the day.
O, Mighty One,
We praise thee that when we have finished all
The day’s full hours will hold, and night shall fall
That we may see, although we die upon
A bed of stone,
One door that opens outward on the dawn.