When we reach a quiet dwelling
     On the strong eternal hills,

Can pierce beyond the gloom of death,

How doth Death speak of our beloved,    
     When it hath laid them low;

Karl Johann Philipp Spitta 

By the holy hills surrounded,
On her firm base securely founded,

J. W. Van DeVenter 

Over the river faces I see,

Fair as the morning, looking for me;