 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
The Disimbodied Spirit.—Peabody.
O sacred star of evening, tell
In what unseen, celestial sphere,
Those spirits of the perfect dwell,
Too pure to rest in sadness here.
In what unseen, celestial sphere,
Those spirits of the perfect dwell,
Too pure to rest in sadness here.
Roam they the crystal fields of light,
O'er paths by holy angels trod,
Their robes with heavenly lustre bright,
Their home, the Paradise of God?
O'er paths by holy angels trod,
Their robes with heavenly lustre bright,
Their home, the Paradise of God?
Soul of the just! and canst thou soar
Amidst those radiant spheres sublime,
Where countless hosts of heaven adore,
Beyond the bounds of space or time?—
Amidst those radiant spheres sublime,
Where countless hosts of heaven adore,
Beyond the bounds of space or time?—
And canst thou join the sacred choir,
Through heaven's high dome the song to raise,
Where seraphs strike the golden lyre
In everduring notes of praise?
Through heaven's high dome the song to raise,
Where seraphs strike the golden lyre
In everduring notes of praise?
Oh! who would heed the chilling blast,
That blows o'er time's eventful sea,
If bid to hail, its perils past,
The bright wave of eternity!
That blows o'er time's eventful sea,
If bid to hail, its perils past,
The bright wave of eternity!
And who the sorrows would not bear
Of such a transient world as this,
When hope displays, beyond its care,
So bright an entrance into bliss!
Of such a transient world as this,
When hope displays, beyond its care,
So bright an entrance into bliss!
| The American common-place book of poetry | |