Classic Poem

The clouds have all melted away,
That hung o'er my morning of life;
The darkness has turned into day,
And peace has succeeded to strife.

The trumpet has sounded to me,
Saying, Time shall not be any more:
The face of the Highest I see;
And with angels, I bow and adore.

But, leaving the mansions above,
Through the mists of this beautiful hill,
I look on the valley I love,
And a blessing implore for it still.

Peace be in that dwelling where brethren meet;
Where the houseless are sheltered, the hungry are fed
Where heart can meeTheart, in communion sweet;
Where the maniac often has rested her head.

May the wind whisper peace, as it sighs
Through the trees where their fathers have been
And murmur, that still, from the skies,
They smile on the heavenly scene.

Flow softly, sweet stream, as you pass by the place,
And bless it in silvery tones;
Reflect every feature, and catch every grace,
And melody make with the stones.

O, bless the still valley, ye angels above,
Ye holy, invisible throng!
And ever spread o'er it your pinions of love,
And bless it with me in your song.