When Heaven and Hell are met，
Looked down on you from Heavens door-post
He would his deeds forget.
Brooding no more upon Gods wars
In his pine homestead，
He would go weave out of the stars
A chaplet for your head.
And all folk seeing him bow down，
And white stars tell your praise，
Would come at last to Gods great town，
Led on by gentle ways；
And God would bid His warfare1 cease，
Saying all things were well；
And softly make a rosy2 peace，
A peace of Heaven with Hell.