Pray for the dead—who bids thee not? Do all our human loves grow pale, Or are the old needs all forgot When men have passed within the veil? Shall prayer’s strong pleadings pierce the skies For those we still keep with us here, And not a single wish arise For loved ones in a happier sphere? Have they no conquests yet to win, No rugged heights of truth to climb; Does no strange syllable of sin Mar the soft cadence of their rhyme; Or has God snapped the strong, sweet ties He took such loving pains to weld, And said, “Henceforth their memories In prayerless silence must be held”? Pray for the dead: the links that bound Thy soul to theirs were forged on high; Borne upward, they have surely found The chain still fastened in the sky. And who of us so wise to say That they have lost the need of prayer! Heaven’s gates are not so far away That earth goes unremembered there. Pray for the dead, nor dare repress Thy longings at the throne of grace; Our dead ones are more dear, not less, In the pure presence of God’s face. And strength and faith are needed, there As here, inspired life to win— Nor see alone the gateways fair Of Heaven’s great life, but enter in. Love well and pray for all thy dead: God gives thee such sweet liberty, He means where’er their souls are sped, That they shall be in touch with thee.
Pray for the Dead
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