 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
I.
When a man dies and wakes in Paradise,
If Paradise there be, — for what man knows?—
He hardly feels, at first, how all his woes
Of life are over; but, with awe-struck eyes,
Looks where the towers and heights of heaven rise;
And as he looks, so great the glory grows,
That eyes, as yet not strong enough, must close,
While he in speechless expectation lies.
If Paradise there be, — for what man knows?—
He hardly feels, at first, how all his woes
Of life are over; but, with awe-struck eyes,
Looks where the towers and heights of heaven rise;
And as he looks, so great the glory grows,
That eyes, as yet not strong enough, must close,
While he in speechless expectation lies.
But through the golden gate he hears the song
The angels ever sing for joy of heart,
Yet dares not mix those shining forms among;
Till, lo! Christ, stepping from the circling throng,
Says to him, “Friend, why standest thou apart?
Enter, for one of these thou surely art!”
The angels ever sing for joy of heart,
Yet dares not mix those shining forms among;
Till, lo! Christ, stepping from the circling throng,
Says to him, “Friend, why standest thou apart?
Enter, for one of these thou surely art!”
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |