Dear hearts of love surrounding me, farewell! I cannot see you now; or, if I do, You are transfigured. There are floating forms That whisper over me like summer leaves; And now there comes, and spreads through all my soul. Delicious influx of another life, From out whose essence spring, like living flowers, Angelic senses with quick ultimates, That catch the rustle of ethereal robes, And the thin chime of melting minstrelsy-- Rising and falling--answered far away-- As Echo, dreaming in the twilight woods, Repeats the warble of her twilight birds. And flowers that mock the Iris toss their cups In the impulsive ether, and spill out Sweet tides of perfume, fragrant deluges, Flooding my spirit like an angel's breath. * * * * * And still the throng increases; still unfold With broader span and more elusive sweep The radiant vistas of a world divine. But O my soul! what vision rises now! Far, far away, white blazing like the sun, In deepest distance and on highest height, Through walls diaphanous, and atmosphere Flecked with unnumbered forms of missive power, Out-going fleetly and returning slow, A Presence shines I may not penetrate; But on a throne, with smile ineffable, I see a form my conscious spirit knows. Jesus, my Saviour! Jesus, Lamb of God! Jesus who taketh from me all my sins, And from the world! Jesus, I come to thee! Come thou to me! O come, Lord, quickly! Come! _David_. Flown on the wings of rapture! Is this death? His heart is still; his beaded brow is cold; His wasted breast struggles for breath no more; And his pale features, hardened with the stress Of Life's resistance, momently subside Into a smile, calm as a twilight lake, Sprent with the images of rising stars, We have seen Evil in his countless forms In these poor lives; have met his armed hosts In dread encounter and discomfiture; And languished in captivity to them, Until we lost our courage and our faith; And here we see their Chieftain--Terror's King! He cuts the knot that binds a weary soul To faithless passions, sateless appetites, And powers perverted, and it flies away Singing toward heaven. He turns and looks at us, And finds us weeping with our gratitude-- Full of sweet sorrow,--sorrow sweeter far Than the supremest ecstasy of joy.