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the spirit's whisper.
Shall dim her beauty, and no weary sighs
Fill her young bosom with their heaviness;
For in that world of bliss, pain cannot enter—
Sorrow is unknown—and O, blest bliss of all
They never part in heaven.
Fill her young bosom with their heaviness;
For in that world of bliss, pain cannot enter—
Sorrow is unknown—and O, blest bliss of all
They never part in heaven.
Dost thou catch
The gentle whisper of that angel voice?
Methinks the air is stirred with viewless plumes
That quiver round us; while unto mine ear
There comes a strain, like music heard in dreams,
Or, soft and low, as an Æolian lyre,
And this the burden of its melody:
The gentle whisper of that angel voice?
Methinks the air is stirred with viewless plumes
That quiver round us; while unto mine ear
There comes a strain, like music heard in dreams,
Or, soft and low, as an Æolian lyre,
And this the burden of its melody:
Sweet mother, do not weep!
The joy of sainted spirits now is mine;
I roam the fields of light, with those who keep
Bright watch, where heaven's own golden portals shine.
The joy of sainted spirits now is mine;
I roam the fields of light, with those who keep
Bright watch, where heaven's own golden portals shine.
I am the babe no more,
Who gave its feeble wailing to thine ear;
Free from the cumbering clay, I mount, I soar,
Upward and onward, through a boundless sphere!
Who gave its feeble wailing to thine ear;
Free from the cumbering clay, I mount, I soar,
Upward and onward, through a boundless sphere!
