I thought I heard grand music, but
	I thought it was not real;
I did not know the meaning which
	those notes were to reveal.
But then the tidings were received,
	and now it is well known
That sound of joy was heard because
	a saint had been called home.

The Lord's ways are mysterious, dark;
	the mystery I can take.
It is their suddenness, though, that
	my base of faith would shake.
For now a friend has left us with no chance
	to say goodbye;
A different music, now, I hear
	looking into the sky.

The willows are bent lower as
	their tear-shaped leaves grow long,
The singing birds add just a note of
	sadness to their song.
The whispering wind its consolation
	offers from each tree,
The mourning dove laments
	its melancholy sympathy.

But echoes mere those are of
	better songs which still are heard
In joyous realms above where now
	angelic wings are stirred.
Ten thousand welcomes to His servant
	Sarah have been rung
And songs of thanks to Him who died
	to bring her home are sung.

So, join that cloud of witnesses!
	Though our loss we will grieve,
To tears add we our tears of thanks
	that He will you receive.

And when our day shall come
	(Oh, blest the thought of that great day!)
We shall see once again our friend
	who has been called away
And there shall be no longer tears
	when we at last have soared
To go home to where we belong;
	Home, with our risen Lord.