When my final farewell to the world I have said,
[originally, When mysterious whispers are floating about]
And gladly lie down to my rest;
When softly the watchers shall say, “He is dead,”
And fold my pale hands o’er my breast;
And when, with my glorified vision at last
The walls of “That City” I see,
Will any one then at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?
Will any one then at the beautiful gate,
Be waiting and watching for me?