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 It seemeth such a little way to me
Across to that strange country – the Beyond;
And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be
The home of those whom I am so fond,
They make it seem familiar and most dear,
As journeying friends bring distant regions near.
So close it lies, that when my sight is clear I think I almost see the gleaming strand.
I know I feel those who have gone from here Come near enough sometimes, to touch my hand.
I often think, but for our veiled eyes, We should find heaven right round about us lies.
I cannot make it seem a day to dread, When from this dear earth I shall journey out To that still dear country of the dead, And join the lost ones, so long dreamed about.
I love this world, yet shall I love to go And meet the friends who wait for me, I know.
I never stand above a bier and see The seal of death set on some well-loved face But that I think ‘One more to welcome me, When I shall cross the intervening space Between this land and that one “over there”; One more to make the strange Beyond seem fair.
’ And so for me there is no sting to death, And so the grave has lost its victory.
It is but crossing – with a bated breath, And white, set face – a little strip of sea, To find the loved ones waiting on the shore, More beautiful, more precious than before.

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