Portsmouth, 1830

When I am in my grave, The busy clouds will wander on; This Moon, that silver--tips each dancing wave, Will shine as it hath shone. When I am low in ground, The Spring will call and wake the flowers, And yonder little knoll will show as gay As it hath bloomed when ours. When I am in the sky, Long leagues above the evening--star, The city--hum shall sound as fitfully As now it comes from far. When I am spirit clear, More pure than is this Ocean--moon, The false world in the great Eternal's ear Shall make no better tune. God, lift me from the power Of flesh--corruption: how shall I Bear to be borne along with stainless flower And fleecy clould on high! God, lift up unto me The sinning heart of human--kind; How can I flutter down the skies and see Their errant souls and blind? Or wrap me in the light That folds thy glory's outer zone; Be Thou the sole horizon to my sight, Content in Thee alone.