Are not the stars Immortal? Do they not live forever In a joy of light? Have they not looked down From age to age upon this distant world And watched its evolutions? Viewed its face Change beneath the whelming flood—its cities Sink beneath the earthquake’s shock—its mountains Belch destruction—its boasted empires fall— Its armies crushed in battle—its proud kings Fade from earth—its ancient monumental Grandeur crumble into dust? Yet they roll on, Creatures of life, a beaming essence, A mysterious throng of heavenly Pageantry. But is there not a region Far above that envious height; above The stars; where beings live forever, and No darkness comes; where light exists for ages, Unborrowed from the sun; where storms dim not Its brightness? and where rapture never dies? Yes, far above the sky-bound ceiling, there Is light—eternal light—joy unsubdued, And everlasting life! Is there such a Thing as sin? I feel it not. This is a Holy hour. Nothing exists to me but Heaven, and heaven’s pure habitants; all worldly Thoughts are drowned in high communing. Is there Such a thing as pain? I know it not, who Oft have known it. Heaven’s high-wrought happiness Is mine. This is a peaceful hour, and I Could deem myself already entered on Immortal ground, did not this clog of clay Assure me I am yet of earth, and have, Perchance, long years of pain, and wo, and sin To witness, and the dark vale of death is Yet unpassed by me, though ever near. Well, If it must be so, welcome the hour that Breaks these mortal shackles, and lets loose my Spirit on the wings of life, to find its Native element and long sought home, if Heaven at last be mine. Congenial spirits Of unknown existence! would that your forms Could be perceived by mortal eyes, that I Might hold sweet converse with you, and forget That I am mortal.