The chequer board spins on the Thin White Glide

Thinking that somewhere, someone has died

She slips and slides up and down the very place

Looking for His warm embrace.

Who will deliver from the hand of death?

What can replace her latest breath?

Only the Saviour King can know

Or point the way her glide to slow.

Fast and slower she rides the storms

Waiting and waiting for loves alarms

Where all is at rest and peace and love

Everlasting life to prove.