Not , Heavenly Father, that we ask or hope
An idle heaven beyond the sea of death,
Do we, about to die, salute Thee thus
With our fast-failing breath.

For we have found the dearest joy of earth
In work for Thee and for our fellow-men;
Dying, we would not lay the burden down;
As now, so be it then.

Not that we claim reward for duty done,
Though ne'er so bravely, in this mortal strife,
Do we demand of Thee, O God, our God,
A never-ending life.

For it has been reward enough for us
To do the duty for its own sweet sake.
We have our dues, but not the less our cry
For life to come we make.

Over a few things we have faithful been:
Now over many do Thou give us rule;
For work, more work; for lessons learned, to be
For ever in Thy school.

Not that we want a better world than this;
Rather that this is so divinely good;
And what is best in it doth ever taste
As 'twere immortal food.

Not that we hope to reach some happy shore,
Where storms shall never dim the summer sky,
Where struggle, sorrow, pain, shall be no more,
Seems it less hard to die.

We know too well the good of sorrow here;
What after freshness lurks in every storm;
What strength and beauty, pain and struggle, bring
In their forbidding form.

Thus, O our Father, we about to die
Salute Thee, not in selfishness or fear;
And dare believe that there is more beyond
Than we have dreamed of here.