As grains of sand, as stars, as drops of dew,
Numbered and treasured by the Almighty Hand,
The Saints triumphant throng that holy land
Where all things and Jerusalem are new.
We know not half they sing or half they do.
But this we know, they rest and understand;
While like a conflagration freshly fanned
Their love glows upward, outward, thro’ and thro’.
Lo! Like a stream of incense launched on flame
Fresh Saints stream up from death to life above,
To shine among those others and rejoice:
What matters tribulation whence they came?
All love and only love can find a voice
Where God makes glad His Saints, for God is love.