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By Grace Aguilar.
Oh, walk me not from this sweet
dream
Now o'er my spirit stealing,
Of heaven's deep calm, a shadowy gleam,
This care-worn heart is feeling.
This is not suff'ring, though my
frame,
Be weak and pain-struck lying;
While life's sad cares no thought can claim,
There is no need for sighing.
This—this is peace! Disturb it
not,
To heav'n that dream has won me,
Oh let me lie, the world forgot—
God's eye alone upon me!
'Tis thoughts of heav'n, of God, of
death
That now are round me clinging,
That o'er my soul one balmy breath
Of purest joys are finging.
Oh break them not, too few, too
fleet,
Like gleams of light departing,
Sent with such perfect calm replete,
To soothe earth's restless smarting.
And oh! When death is near at hand,
May such bless'd thoughts be given;
My throbbing heart be softly fann'd,
By breezes sent from heaven!
No need e'en then of sigh or groan,
If those I love surround me,
My mother's kidd to soothe my moan,
My father's arm around me!
And one loved friend my hand to
hold,
And whisper tales of heaven,
And one in mem'ry long enfold,
When life's last link is riven.
And oh, if music may descend,
To hail the soul that's flying,
Let it with love's soft accents blend,
To soothe me e'en in dying.
No need for tears, an hour like
this,
Forbids all sounds of wailing,
It whispereth of immortal bliss,
Whose joy is never failing.
These are the visions sweet, that
twine
Their lustrous rays around me,
When pain and weakness oft are mind,
And to my couch have bound me.
Oh, think not then, this tearful eye
Thus heavy is with sorrow,
Nor seek to soothe me as I lie,
And promise dealth to-morrow.
Nor wake me from these blessed
dreams—
The cares of life oppress me,
I would lie still in heaven's own gleams,
And feel—my God doth bless me!
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