FELLOW who had done his best
Went one morning to his rest;
Never Hp his forehead pressed
Not one rose on his still breast.
But the angels knew that day
How along the rocky way
He had traveled for that rest
Fellow who had done his best!

No one, as he trudged along,
Knew the sigh- was in the song ;
No one heard his poor heart beat
Where the sharp thorns pierced his feet.
But that day the day he died
There were angels at his side,
Angels singing him to rest
Fellow who had done his best.

For the room was strangely bright,
And his face, in morning light,
Had a smile that seemed to say :
'After darkness comes the day !
All the grief the gloom is past,
And the morning's mine at last !'
Far he'd traveled for that rest
Fellow who had done his best.

Never sermon, song or sigh
Went that day toward the sky;
But God's lilies violets sweet,
Decked his grave at head and feet;
And the birds, in shadows dim,
Sang their sweetest over him.
He that went that way for rest
Fellow who had done his best.