Classic Poem

NOT weary of Thy world,
So beautiful, O Father, in Thy love,
Thy world, that, glory-lighted from above,
Lies in thy hand impearled:

Not asking rest from toil; —
Sweet toil, that draws us nearer to Thy side;
Ever to tend Thy planting satisfied,
Though in ungenial soil:

Nor to be freed from care,
That lifts us out of self's lone hollowness;
Since unto Thy dear feet we all may press,
And leave our burdens there:

But O for tireless strength!
A life untainted by the curse of sin,
That spreads no vile contagion from within; —
Found without spot, at length!

For power, and stronger will
To pour out love from the heart's inmost springs;
A constant freshness for all needy things;
In blessing, blessed still!

O to be clothed upon
With the white radiance of a heavenly form!
To feel the winged Psyche quit the worm,
Life, life eternal won!

O to be free, heart-free
From all that checks the right endeavor here!
To drop the weariness, — the pain, — the fear, —
To know death cannot be!

O but to breathe in air
Where there can be no tyrant and no slave;
Where every thought is pure, and high, and brave,
And all that is is fair!

More life! the life of heaven!
A perfect liberty to do Thy will:
Receiving all from Thee, and giving still,
Freely as Thou hast given!

More life! a prophecy
Is in that thirsty cry, if read aright.
Deep calleth unto deep: Life Infinite,
O soul, awaiteth thee!