Classic Poem

Spirits ! blest spirits! hear,
I call ye from your shadowy throne,
From the shroud of death around ye thrown—
Spirits! blest spirits, appear.
And come array'd in your heavenly guise,
With the purple lips and the burning eyes,
And with all the bright and breathing bloom,
Which ye inhal'd on the day of doom,
When heaven was open'd to your sight,
And ye sprang like flowers to drink the light;
Descend! and bid my soul inherit
The pure aspirings of your spirit;
Pour on my trembling lip the vow
Which weds me to the joys above;
And start not at the mournful love,
Which earth has stamp'd on my pale brow.
I see, I see the glorious goal,
The river for my thirsting soul;
And I hear the voice which calls for me
O'er the billows of Eternity.
Spirits! who died unknown,
Whose blossom of virtue perish'd
On sorrow's wild gale uncherish'd,
Where, where is that blossom flown?
To play on the breezes of heaven,
To bloom in the beam of the sky,
And to find earth was only given
To gain Eternity.
And thou, sweet spirit of one
Whom love wept, but could not save;
Who smiling lay down alone
In the darkness of the grave!
Come, and a moment beam
Where we sigh above thy rest;
And our eyes shall cease to stream,
As they see thee for ever blest.

Spirits ! blest spirits! hear,
I call ye from your shadowy throne,
From the shroud of death around ye thrown—
Spirits! blest spirits, appear.
And come array'd in your heavenly guise,
With the purple lips and the burning eyes,
And with all the bright and breathing bloom,
Which ye inhal'd on the day of doom,
When heaven was open'd to your sight,
And ye sprang like flowers to drink the light;
Descend! and bid my soul inherit
The pure aspirings of your spirit;
Pour on my trembling lip the vow
Which weds me to the joys above;
And start not at the mournful love,
Which earth has stamp'd on my pale brow.
I see, I see the glorious goal,
The river for my thirsting soul;
And I hear the voice which calls for me
O'er the billows of Eternity.
Spirits! who died unknown,
Whose blossom of virtue perish'd
On sorrow's wild gale uncherish'd,
Where, where is that blossom flown?
To play on the breezes of heaven,
To bloom in the beam of the sky,
And to find earth was only given
To gain Eternity.
And thou, sweet spirit of one
Whom love wept, but could not save;
Who smiling lay down alone
In the darkness of the grave!
Come, and a moment beam
Where we sigh above thy rest;
And our eyes shall cease to stream,
As they see thee for ever blest.