 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
MY HEAVENLY COUNTRY.
My Heavenly Country!—'tis to theeMy thoughts now ever gladly flee!
Far from the tumult and the toil—
The storm—the shadow—and the soil—
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Of mortal yokes and mortal years,
My Heavenly Country!—bright and fair,
All Love and Peace—and Light and Air,
Oh! for thy raptures and thy rest—
Thy hallowed calm so deep—so blest;
Thy myriad Harps with thrilling tones,
Angelic throngs and starry thrones;
Thy golden cities—glittering towers—
And never fading changeless Bowers.
Oh! for thy long and cloudless days,
The bliss that droops not nor decays—
The unfaltering strength—the unfailing youth,
The Light—the Certainty,—the Truth!
Oh! for thy shining chrystal streams,
Thy blessed breezes—brilliant beams;
Those beams uncrossed by mist or cloud,
Which mantling Night may never shroud.
Oh! for thy Crowns and for thy Palms,
Thy glorious breathings—precious balms
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Which here the Soul is quick to feel.
Oh! for the triumph—for the trance—
The glories crowding on the glance.
And for thy Scions and thy Shoots—
Thy deathless growths—thy flowers and fruits;
Thy living founts—thy swelling strains—
Thy radiant paths—thy dazzling plains.
Oh! for thy visions and thy views,
Thy roseate lights, thy rainbow hues,
Thy pure and perfect atmosphere,
Serene, and exquisite, and clear.
Ah, for what Prospects do I pine?
My Heavenly, Heavenly Country—thine!
Bless'd Prospects those—not dale nor wood
Not of the mount nor of the flood,
Not of the rock nor of the field,
There things more glorious shine revealed.
When shall they spread before my gaze,
In all their pomp, in all their blaze;
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My Heavenly, Heavenly Country—when?
And bless this wrung and darkened Soul,
Which then shall reach its radiant Goal!
My Heavenly Country! 'tis to thee
That I am fain, how fain, to flee,
To rest me from a thousand woes,
And win at last the bright Repose
Which only can be known and found
On thy divine and distant ground,
For I confess that all things here
Are doubt, and weariness, and fear,
And disappointment and distrust,
And chaff and clay, and dross and dust,
And desolation and decay,
And dark despondence and dismay;
Privation, failure, and constraint,
And wrongs, and sufferings, and complaint;
Illusion and Infirmity,
And Mockeries that for ever flee;
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And groundless trust and graceless mirth;
And strife and grief, and change and gloom,
Pursuing ills—impending gloom;
Disquietude and sharp distress,
And bitterness and heaviness;
Monotony and cheerless waste,
And heartless hope and helpless haste;
And yearnings vain and torturing cares,
And respites brief and long despairs;
And Slavery and Subjection vile,
And woes, and wants, and tears, and toil;
Deep trials and temptations dire,
And vain expectance and desire;
Yea, all doth seem thus void and vain—
Distraction to the heart and brain;
Yea, all things here thus gloomy seem,
And all—the Shadow of a Dream!
All, all but Pain and Vanity,
Save thee—My Heavenly Country—thee!
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |