Though from my gaze earth's light is fading fast,
⁠Yet from the gathering darkness doth arise
A land, in solemn beauty unsurpassed,
⁠⁠⁠Opening before mine eyes.

I see the goodly city clearer grow,
⁠With jasper walls and pearl gates opening wide;
Lo! from its towers a heavenly strain doth flow,
⁠⁠⁠And over me doth glide.

There dwell the saints of old, who yearned to see
⁠Those tearless mansions! and through fiery flame
Have passed triumphant, bearing willingly
⁠⁠⁠The cross for His dear name.

And other blessed sights I see, too fair
⁠For mortal tongue to say: the voice grows cold,
And vainly tries those glories to declare,
⁠⁠⁠Which now to me unfold!

But fairest, brightest to mine eye doth rise
⁠The Lamb once slain, in glorious beauty crowned;
Wiping away the tears from weeping eyes,
⁠⁠⁠Healing His people's wound.

There, O beloved ones, my place shall be,
⁠Close by His side, in deepest love to sweep
My golden harp-strings through eternity
⁠⁠⁠In songs so full and deep!

Say, would ye wish me back again from this
⁠All-blessed life? nay, let your tears cease;
He calleth me at last to rest and bliss,
⁠⁠⁠Let me depart in peace.

⁠⁠Where are they scattered now,
⁠⁠⁠The old, old friends?
One made her dwelling where the maples glow,
And mighty streams through solemn forests flow,
But never, from that pine-crowned land of snow,
⁠⁠⁠A message sends.

⁠⁠Some meet me oft amid
⁠⁠⁠Life's common ways;
And then, perchance, a word or smile declares
That warm hearts throb beneath their load of cares;
For love grows on, like wheat among the tares,
⁠⁠⁠Till harvest days.

⁠⁠"But some are fall'n asleep;"^[1]
⁠⁠⁠The words are sweet!
Oh, friends at rest beneath the blessed sod,
My feet still tread the weary road ye trod
Ere yet your loving souls went back to God! —
⁠⁠⁠When shall we meet?

⁠⁠Oh, thou divinest Friend,
⁠⁠⁠When shall it be
That I may know them in their garments white?
And see them with a new and clearer sight,
Mine old familiar friends — made fair and bright,
⁠⁠⁠Like unto Thee!

Violet delicate, sweet,
Down in the deep of the wood,
Hid in thy still retreat,
Far from the sound of the street,
Man and his merciless mood: —

Safe from the storm and the heat,
Breathing of beauty and good
Fragrantly, under thy hood
⁠⁠⁠⁠Violet.

Beautiful maid, discreet,
Where is the mate that is meet,
Meet for thee — strive as he could —
Yet will I kneel at thy feet,
Fearing another one should,
⁠⁠⁠⁠Violet!

Rose, in the hedgerow grown,
Where the scent of the fresh sweet hay
Comes up from the fields new-mown,
You know it — you know it — alone,
So I gather you here to-day!

For here — was it not here, say? —
That she came by the woodland way,
And my heart with a hope unknown
⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Rose?

Ah, yes! — with her bright hair blown,
And her eyes like the skies of May,
And her steps like the rose-leaves strown
When the winds in the rose-trees play, —
It was here, — O my love, my own
⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Rose!