Classic Poem

My hand in Thine, my heart Thy guest;
Take me, O Love, to the young-eyed West.
Out in the morning, side by side,
Our lofty wings shall onward ride
O'er mountain peaks of rest.
Healer and Friend, o'er the heaving breast
Of a weary world, despoiled, oppressed,
Curing its ills, be Thou my guide,
My hand in Thine.
Ever some higher, holier quest,
Ever some later and nobler best,
Ever more glad, I would still abide
In Thy great sun-transepts, vast and wide,
My hand in Thine.