NEVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more, Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast: O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest! Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise, Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims our eyes: Glory there the sun outshines; whose beams the Blessed only see: O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 14 by JAMES JOYCE THE SAGA OF THE SMALL-BREASTED WOMAN by KAREN SWENSON MEZZO CAMMIN by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ODES I, 5 by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS MOCK EPITAPH ON MR. AND MRS. ESTLIN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD AUTUMN SOLILOQUY by ELSIE DINWIDDIE BARTLETT |