(IN BUNYAN'S "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS) OH far away ye are, ye lovely hills, Yet can I feel the air Grow sweet while gazing where The valley with the distant sunshine fills. Fair Morning! lend thy wings, and let me fly To thy eternal home, Where never shadows come, Where tears are wiped away from every eye. I'm weary, weary of this earth of ours; I'm sick with the heart's want; My fever'd spirits pant, To cling to things less transient than its flowers. I ask of the still night -- it answers me, This earth is not my home: Great Father! let me come, A wanderer and a penitent to Thee! Ye far, fair mountains, echo with my cry. Unto your realm of bliss The grave the threshold is; Let its dark portals open -- let me die! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ST. ISAAC'S CHURCH, PETROGRAD by CLAUDE MCKAY CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY by WALT WHITMAN EMPORIUM VERSUS NEW YORK, 1854 by JACOB BIGELOW THE WIDOWER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 110 by BLISS CARMAN THE FIRST SNOW STORM by NATHALIA CRANE |