When my final farewell to the world I have said,
                                        
                                        [originally, When mysterious whispers are floating about]
                                        
                                        And gladly lie down to my rest;
                                        
                                        When softly the watchers shall say, “He is dead,”
                                        
                                        And fold my pale hands o’er my breast;
                                        
                                        And when, with my glorified vision at last
                                        
                                        The walls of “That City” I see,
                                        
                                        Will any one then at the beautiful gate,
                                        
                                        Be waiting and watching for me?
                                        
                                        Will any one then at the beautiful gate,
                                        
                                        Be waiting and watching for me?