I hear a voice, ’tis sweet withal-- Far sweeter than Æolian lyre; Gentle its murmurs on me fall, In harmonies that never tire. I know that voice, my inmost soul Answers in quick response to thine; Deep are the harmonies that roll, When thy fond spirit enters mine. For worlds of wealth, I would not give The wisdom I receive from thee; Thou bidst me to be pure, and live Worthy of one whose spirit’s free; For what is death? ’tis but a life-- The dawning of a new born day; With immortality ’tis rife-- A bliss that can not pass away. Then gently speak, and touch my hand; Give me more light and truth divine; And, when at last the spirit land, Unfolds this waiting soul of mine, Thou’lt be the first to welcome me-- To lure my raptur’d spirit higher; To show me those I long to see, And tune for me thy angel lyre. FOOTNOTES: [A] When one head controls another, the one controlled has been beheaded. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber using the original cover and is entered into the public domain.