I know thou art free from earth’s sordid control,

  In the beautiful mansions above—

That sorrow can never be flung o’er the soul

  That rests in the bosom of Love.

I know that the wing of thy spirit is furled

  By the palm-shaded fountains of bliss.

That erst in its strife for the bright upper world

  Was bruised and enfeebled in this.

For oft as I gaze on thy dwelling of light,

  When the glory of stars is on high,

I hear in my visions, as glowingly bright,

  The flutter of wings in the sky:

And in the sweet islands that slumber afar

  From the tomb and the desert and sea,

With glory around thee that nothing can mar.

  My soul hath revealings of thee.

But still like a captive confined from the day,

  My heart doth in bitterness pine;

And sigh for release from its prison of clay.

  And a blissful reunion with thine:

Save when I am come to the heavenly shrine

  To pour supplication and prayer,

For then doth my spirit seem nearer to thine.

  And lay down its mantle of care.