In a wild, lonely valley,
So death-like a valley
That no other valley
With it could compare,
Men's bones by the thousands,
And hundreds of thousands,
And thousands of thousands,
Lay bleaching and bare,
THE GATHERING OF ISRAEL
When, one day, a prophet
Came there as a prophet,
And LIFE had this prophet
Engraved on his brow.
He cried to those dry bones,
“Awaken, ye dry bones,
And cease to be dry bones;
The Lord calls you now!”
Then quickly those bony men,
Legions of bony men,
Armies of bony men,
Heard and obeyed.
And just as they were in life,
Long ago were in life—
Stalwart they were in life—
Was each one made.
And so to the righteous dead,
Great and small righteous dead,
All of the righteous dead,
Hope is secure.
And when the Lord shall speak,
Over their graves shall speak,
Life to the dead shall speak,
Endless and pure.
