Let me go; 'tis Jesus calls me;
Let me gain the realms of day;
Bear me over, angel pinions;
Longs my soul to be away.
Let me go where none are weary—
Where is raised no wail of woe;
Let me go and bathe my spirit
In the raptures angels know.
Let me go, for bliss eternal
Lures my soul away, away,
And the victor's song triumphant
Thrills my heart; I cannot stay.
Let me go; why should I tarry?
What has earth to bind me here?
What but cares and toils and sorrows?
What but death and pain and fear?
Let me go, for hopes most cherished,
Blasted round me often lie,
O! I've gathered brightest flowers,
But to see them fade and die.
Let me go where tears and sighing
Are for evermore unknown,
Where the joyous songs of glory
Call me to a happier home.
Let me go-I'd cease this dying,
I would gain life's fairer plains,
Let me join the myriad harpers,
Let me chant their rapturous strains.
Let me go, O speed my journey,
Saints and seraphs lure away,
O! I almost feel the raptures
That belong to endless day.
Oft methinks I hear the singing
That is only heard above,
Let me go, O! speed my going,
Let me go where all is love.
REAM'ST thou of heaven?—what dreams are
Fair child, fair, gladsome child,
With eyes that like the dew-drop shine,
And bounding footsteps wild?
Tell me what hues the immortal shore
Can wear, my bird, to thee,
Ere yet one shadow hath passed o'er
Thy glance and spirit free?
"O, beautiful is heaven and bright,
With long, long summer-days;
I see its lilies gleam in light,
Where many a fountain plays.
"And there, unchecked, methinks I rove,
And seek where young flowers lie,
In vale and golden-fruited grove,
Flowers that are not to die!"
Thou poet of the lonely thought,
Sad heir of gifts divine!
Say, with what solemn glory fraught
Is heaven in dreams of thine?
"O, where the living waters flow Along that radiant shore,
My soul, a wanderer here, shall know The exile-thirst no more.
"The burden of a stranger's heart,
Which here along I bear,
Like the night-shadow shall depart,
With my first wakening there.
"And, borne on eagles' wings afar,
Free thought shall claim its dower,
From every realm, from every star,
Of glory and of power."
O woman! with the soft, sad eye
Of spiritual gleam,
Tell me, of those bright worlds on high,
How doth thy fond heart dream?
By thy sweet, mournful voice I know,
On thy pale brow I see,
That thou hast loved in fear and woe;
Say, what is heaven to thee?
"O, heaven is where no secret dread May haunt love's meeting hour; Where from the past no gloom is shed O'er the heart's chosen bower;
"Where every severed wreath is bound;
Where none have heard the knell
That smites the heart with that deep sound,
Farewell, beloved-farewell."
EDWARD HENRY BICKERSTETH.
Rest, service: for the Paradise of saints,
Like Eden with its toilless husbandry,
Has many plants to tend, and flowers to twine,
And fruit trees in the garden of the soul,
That ask the culture of celestial skill.
Some wander'd amid vines and flowery meads,
And from the grateful lips of angels learn'd
More virtues than he knew who spake of trees
From cedars to the hyssop on the wall.
Some perfected their skill in dance and song,
With lyre or lute accompanied, and made
These woods and valleys vocal with sweet sounds,
Sweeter than those which from a thousand birds
Fill Vallombrosa's vale in spring-time. Here'
It was perpetual spring. Some clomb with ease,
Swift as the winds, the everlasting hills,
And from their summit bathed in light survey'd
The glorious landscape. Some in silence mused:
Heaven has its calm unbroken solitudes
For prayer and lonely meditation meet.
And some in clusters, walking or recline,
Heard from an elder saint or guardian spirit
The awful story of the past, or bent
Over the mystic chart of prophecy,
Brother to brother saying, "It is done.
The day-spring is at hand."
ERE is no bootless quest;
Here shall no fear appall;
Here love is all in all;
Here shalt thou win thy ardent soul's desire;
Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire.
Lift, lift thy wondering eyes!
Yonder is Paradise,
And this fair shining band
Are spirits of that land!
And these that throng to meet thee are thy kin,
Who have awaited thee, redeemed from sin!
The city gates unfold; enter, O enter in!
EDWARD HENRY BICKErsteth.
ION is our home;
Jerusalem, the city of our God.
O happy home! O happy children here!
O blissful mansions of our Father's house!
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