| THEY are all gone into the world of light! | |
| And I alone sit lingring here; | |
| Their very memory is fair and bright, | |
| And my sad thoughts doth clear. | |
| |
| It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest | 5 |
| Like stars upon some gloomy grove, | |
| Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, | |
| After the Sun's remove. | |
| |
| I see them walking in an Air of glory, | |
| Whose light doth trample on my days: | 10 |
| My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, | |
| Meer glimering and decays. | |
| |
| O holy hope! and high humility, | |
| High as the Heavens above! | |
| These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me | 15 |
| To kindle my cold love. | |
| |
| Dear, beauteous death! the Jewel of the Just, | |
| Shining no where, but in the dark; | |
| What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust; | |
| Could man outlook that mark! | 20 |
| |
| He that hath found some fledg'd birds nest, may know | |
| At first sight, if the bird be flown; | |
| But what fair Well, or Grove he sings in now, | |
| That is to him unknown. | |
| |
| And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams | 25 |
| Call to the soul, when man doth sleep: | |
| So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted theams, | |
| And into glory peep. | |
| |
| If a star were confin'd into a Tomb | |
| Her captive flames must needs burn there; | 30 |
| But when the hand that lockt her up, gives room, | |
| She'l shine through all the sphære. | |
| |
| O Father of eternal life, and all | |
| Created glories under thee! | |
| Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall | 35 |
| Into true liberty. | |
| |
| Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill | |
| My perspective (still) as they pass, | |
| Or else remove me hence unto that hill, | |
| Where I shall need no glass. | 40 |
| |
