Dying Song Leave me, O leave me! my o'erwearied feet, O my beloved! may walk no more with thee; For I am standing where the circles meet That mortals name, Time and Eternity. Tell me, O tell me not of summer flowers In vales where once our steps together trod; Even though I now behold the shining towers That rise above the city of our God. I know that the wide fields of heaven are fair -- That on their borders grief is all forgot; That the white tents of beauty, too, are there -- But how shall I be blessed where thou art not? Over the green hills, that are only crossed By drifts of light, and choruses of glee, How shall I wander like a spirit lost, And fallen and ruiled, missing, mourning thee! If any wrong of mine, or thought, or said, Has given thee pain or sorrow, O forgive! As wilt thou not, my friend, when I am dead, And by my errors better learn to live. There is not found in all the pleasant past, One memory of thee that I deplore, Or wish not to be in my heart at last, When I shall fall asleep to wake no more. Then leave, oh leave me! though I see the light Of heaven's sweet clime, and hear the angel's call, Where there is never any cloud nor night, Thy love is stronger, mightier than all! |
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