Rising red gold across the harvest field

Or feel the stinging soft rain

As the brown earth her treasures yield.

If I should never taste the salt sea spray

As the ship beats her course across the breeze

Or smell the dog-rose and new-mown hay,

Or moss or primroses beneath the tree.

If I should never hear the thrushes, wake

Long before the sunrise in the glimmering dawn.

Or watch the huge Atlantic rollers break

Against the rugged cliffs in baffling scorn.

If I have to say goodbye to stream and wood,

To wide ocean and the green clad hill,

I know that HE, who made this world so good

Has somewhere made a heaven better still.

This bears witness with my latest breath

Knowing the love of God,