1 There are no dreams beyond the tomb,
The night of dreams is o'er;
'Tis only here they go and come,
On this dull, shadowy shore.

2 And when the morn of morns shall come,
The resurrection-day,
Then yet more real shall all become,
And shadows pass away.

3 How true and great that world must be,
How false, how little this!
Man sees not what he seems to see,
He seems not what he is.

4 But morn is coming with its light,
To chase each shade and ill,
Then time's vain beauty shall take flight,
Like rainbow from the hill.

5 When Christ returneth from on high,
Gone is the night of dreams;
Gone is the shadow and the lie;
Earth shall be what it seems.