Classic Poem

I'm weary — weary — let me go!
For now the pulse of life declineth;
My spirit chides its lingering flow,
For her immortal life she pineth.

I feel the chill night-shadows fall;
The sleep steals on that knows no waking;
Yet well I hear blest voices call,
And bright above the day is breaking.

Not now the purple and the gold
Of trailing clouds at sunset glowing,
These dim and fading eyes behold;
But splendors from the Godhead flowing.

'Tis not the crimson orient beam,
O'er mountain tops in beauty glancing;
Light from the throne! a flooding stream!
'Tis the eternal Sun advancing!

As oft, when waked the summer morn,
Sweet breath of flowers the breezes bore me;
In this serener, fairer dawn,
Perfumes from Paradise float o'er me.

As when by sultry heats oppressed,
I've sought still shades cool waters keeping,
So long I for that holier rest,
Where heaven's own living streams are sweeping.

The joy of life hath been to stand
With spirits noble, true, confiding:
Oh, joy unthought — to reach the band
Of spotless souls with God abiding!

Ye loved of earth! this fond farewell
That now divides us, cannot sever:
Swift flying years their round shall tell,
And our glad souls be one forever.

On the far off celestial hills,
I see the tranquil sunshine lying;
And God himself my spirit fills
With perfect peace — and this is dying!

Methinks I hear the rustling wings
Of unseen messengers descending,
And notes from softly trembling strings,
With myriad voices sweetly blending.

O thou, my Lord adored! this soul
Oft — oft its warm desires hath told thee:
Now wearily the moments roll,
Until these waiting eyes behold thee.

Ah — stay my spirit here no more,
That for her home so fondly yearneth:
There, joy's bright cup is brimming o'er;
There, love's pure flame forever burneth!