The shadow of death is around us all

The shadow of death is around us all, And life is a sorrowful thing; For the winds sweep by with a mournful sigh, And sad are the tidings they bring.

He is dead—and the strong, brave life that he gave Seemed offered to God in vain; Yet he died, Christ-like, in a labor of love, 'Mid sorrow and death and pain.

And why should we sorrow—the crown is his And the glory of life is won; Though he died when his labor was just begun, Yet the work of his life is done.

The beautiful South is a land of death, Where the shadows darken the sun; And the moans of the dying are heard in the night When the deeds of the day are done.

The sunlight falls with a dreary gleam On the cities where ruin is spread, And the rain beats down with a mournful sound On the graves of the silent dead.

Yet high in the heavens a Hand is stretched, That treasures the deeds of love; And the lives gone out in the darkness below Are wrapped in the glory above.

The North bends down in her icy pride And kisses the land of the sun; Love joins them both in a flood of tears, And the glory of peace is won.

The hand that was dyed in a brother's blood Now eases that brother's pain; And the hearts that in life were driven apart, In death are united again.

Then why should we sorrow—our God is love, And lives are not lived in vain; Bright hope still shines like a star of night In the shadow of death and pain.