Classic Poem

How high yon lark is heavenward borne!
Yet, ere again she hails the morn,
Beyond where birds can wing their way
Our souls may soar to endless day,
May hear the heavenly quires rejoice,
While earth still echoes to her voice.

A waveless flood, supremely bright,
Has drowned the myriad isles of light;
But ere, that ocean ebbed away,
The shadowy gulf their forms betray,
Above the stars our course may run,
'Mid beams unborrowed from the sun.

In this day's light what flowers will bloom,
What insects quit the self-made womb!
But ere the bud its leaves unfold,
The gorgeous fly his plumes of gold,
On fairer wings we too may glide,
Where youth and joy no ills betide.

Then come, while yet we linger here,
Fit thoughts for that celestial sphere,
A heart which, under keenest light,
May bear the gaze of spirits bright,
Who all things know, and nought endure
That is not holy, just, and pure.