Classic Poem

Two spirits, mixing, blending,
Went swiftly upward tending
To the skies:
Their golden course no power
Could stay — sweet hour on hour
They uprise.

In heaven's holy night
These spirits, glad and bright,
Became
One perfect spirit-being,
Far, far beyond death seeing,
Earth's pale dominions fleeing
Like a flame.

But back in the sad morn
To earthland they were borne
On slow faint wings —
Slowly, slowly weeping;
But still the chant that sleeping,
They heard, around them rings.