Classic Poem

Blest vision of departed worth,
I see thee still, I see thee still;
Thou art the shade of her that’s gone,
My Mary Hill, my Mary Hill.

My chamber in this silent hour,
Were dark an’ drear, were dark an’ drear
But brighter far than Cynthia’s beam,
Now thou art here, now thou art here.

Wild nature in her grandeur had
No charm for me, no charm for me;
Did not the songsters chant thy name
From every tree, from every tree.

Chaos would have come again,
In worlds afar, in worlds afar;
Could I not see my Mary’s face,
In every star, in every star.

Say when the messenger o’ death,
Shall bid me come, shall bid me come;
Wilt thou be foremost in the van,
To take me home, to take me home.