The Font, the Altar, and the Tomb

The font, the altar, and the tomb,—
And but a step between!
A pulse, a breath, ’twixt birth and death—
And ends life’s sombre scene.

The font, the altar, and the tomb!
How swift through mirth and moan,
The silent shuttles of life’s loom,
Guided by hands unknown!

The font, the altar, and the tomb!
Poor heart, seek not in vain
To move the unrelenting gloom,
For short surcease of pain.

The font, the altar, and the tomb!
Accept frail nature’s dower;—
To thee, to all, an equal doom,—
The inevitable hour!

The font, the altar, and the tomb!
Faint not at “Dust to Dust;”—
The love of God leaves ample room
For deathless hope and trust.

The font, the altar, and the tomb!
Christ crowns the soul’s sore strife;—
The morning breaks! the victor wakes
To everlasting life!