Not Dead, but Sleeping

We say he is dead; ah, the word is too 
’Tis the touch of God, on the weary 
That has caused them to close, in peace-
      ful slumber, 
   To open with joy, in the upper skies. 

We say he is gone; we have lost him for- 
His face and his form we will cherish no 
While happy and safe, just over the river, 
   He is waiting for us, where partings 
      are o’er. 

Ah, sad are our hearts, as we gaze on
      him sleeping,
And bitter and sad are the tears gush-
      ing down; 
And yet,— but we cannot see, for the 
   He has only exchanged the cross, for 
      the crown.

And though the dark mists of grief may 
      surround us, 
   Obscuring the face of the Father above, 
And blindly we grope, still His arms are 
      around us, 
   To guide and sustain with His pitying 

And he whom we love, is safe in His 
   Yes, safe and secure, whatever may 
But ne’er will we know how sweetly he’s 
   Till God, in His mercy, shall gather us 

Songs from the Wayside (Self published, 1908) by Clara Ann Thompson. Copyright © 1908 by Clara Ann Thompson. This poem is in the public domain.