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A. P. Stanley

He is gone--beyond the skies,

A cloud receives Him from our eyes;

Gone beyond the highest height

Of mortal gaze or angel's flight;

Through the veils of Time and Space,

Pass'd into the Holiest Place;

All the toil, the sorrow done,

All the battle fought and won.

He is gone--and we return,

And our hearts within us burn;

Olivet no more shall greet

With welcome shout His coming feet;

Never shall we track Him more

On Gennesareth's glistening shore;

Never in that look or voice

Shall Zion's hill again rejoice.

He is gone--and we remain

In this world of sin and pain;

In the void which He has left,

On this earth of Him bereft,

We have still His work to do,

We can still His path pursue;

Seek Him both in friend and foe,

In ourselves His image show.

He is gone--we heard Him say,

'Good that I should go away.'

Gone is that dear Form and Face,

But not gone His present grace;

Though Himself no more we see,

Comfortless we cannot be:

No, His Spirit still is ours,

Quickening, freshening all our powers.

He is gone--towards their goal,

World and Church must onwards roll:

Far behind we leave the past;

Forwards are our glances cast;

Still His words before us range

Through the ages, as they change:

Wheresoe'er the Truth shall lead,

He will give whate'er we need.


He is gone--but we once more

Shall behold Him as before;

In the Heaven of Heavens the same,

As on earth He went and came.

In the many mansions there,

Place for us will He prepare

In that world, unseen, unknown,

He and we may yet be one.

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