Dagworth

Thousands of souls must leave this prison-house, To be exalted to those heavenly fields Where songs of triumph, palms of victory, Where peace and joy and love and calm content, Sit singing in the azure clouds, and strew Flowers of heaven’s growth over the banquet-table. Bind ardent hope upon your feet like shoes, Put on the robe of preparation! The table is prepared in shining heaven, The flowers of immortality are blown; Let those that fight fight in good steadfastness, And those that fall shall rise in victory.