Classic Poem

I LEAVE thee, Switzerland, with many tears,
And many blessings from my inmost heart;
For thou hast been to me, some happy years,
A pleasant home, and evermore thou art
The shrine of hopes and joys which were a part
Of my soul's life; hopes, joys, not all in vain;
And so God bless thee! E'en these tears that start
At leaving thee are born of a sweet pain
For that which was so bright, but may not be again.

I have found many friends in thee, fair land—
Friends whom I love and may not soon forget;
And I shall turn e'en from the old home band
To those I leave behind with fond regret.
Oh, shall we meet again as once we met?
Will he be with us whose sweet smile did make
Sunshine in every heart? My soul, awake;
Thou must be brave and strong for his beloved sake.

God gives me light sufficient for to-day;
Then let me trust His mercy and be still;
If death and darkness wait along my way,
Shall He not give me strength and grace to fill
The measure of my task—to do His will?
If my life's cup should mantle to the brim
With bitterest drops that sorrow can distil;
If my appointed path grow cold and dim,
Shall it not lead my heart, my wayworn feet to Him?

Our pathway lies across the broad, deep sea,
Whose angry waves no timid soul may dare;
Help us to put our trust, O God, in thee;
For wildest winds may rave if Thou art there
With thine almighty power and sleepless care;
And if to thee, All-Father, it seem best
To call us hence, help us with faith and prayer
To fold our earthly robes and take our rest,
Waiting for thee far down in ocean's silent breast.

Adieu, sweet friends; adieu, Alps, lakes and streams!
I bear your image in my heart's deep core;
And I shall often see ye in my dreams,
Shall hear the rushing torrents and the roar
Of the wild avalanche, till life is o'er.
One last, long look, Mont Blanc; my tearful eyes
May see thy glorious beauty nevermore.
Adieu, ye snow-clad towers and domes, that rise
Like some white city, built against the opal skies.

Land of Stauffacher, Melcthal, Furst and Tell,
My young hope's whilom idol and its goal,
There is a spirit in thine air, a spell
Upon thine Alps, to waken and control
The aspirations of the human soul
To higher life. Thank Heaven, my pathway led
Among thy shrines, where every nook and knoll
Is hallowed by some noble heart that bled
For human liberty. Peace to thy glorious dead!