Classic Poem

A pilgrim, urged by impulse strong,
To God's Blest City takes his way,
The city of celestial song
For which the Spirit bids him pray.

" Clear stream, within thy mirror bright
Its gates shall soon reflected lie;
Ye rocky hills suffused with light,
E'en now from far its towers ye spy.

I hear a sound like distant bells,
Eve tints the grove with crimson light;
Had I but wings o'er lonely dells
And mountain-peaks to waft my flight! "

A lofty joy his thoughts o'erpowers,
He feels by welcome toil o'ercome;
And, sinking down 'mid fragrant flowers,
Lies musing on his heavenly home.

" Too lengthy still the distance seems
To satisfy my hope's fierce fires;
Enfold my spirit, soothing dreams!
Shew me the Vale my soul desires! "

The parted clouds asunder fly,
His angel bright looks down from thence:
" Can I to thee the strength deny,
To whom I gave the hope intense?

Such hopes, such dreams, with promise rife,
Are to the fainting soul as dew;
But nobler is the strenuous strife
That makes each pleasant dream come true! "

'Mid morning's balms he fades again —
The pilgrim wakes with strength renewed;
O'er hills and clefts he toils amain,
Soon at the golden gates he stood.

And lo! spread out like Mother's arms,
The City opes each folding door;
Its heavenly music soothes and charms
The Son whose toilsome course is o'er.