CONFERENCE BETWEEN CHRIST, THE SAINTS, AND THE SOUL
(Lyra Eucharistica, 1863.)
I am pale with sick desire, For my heart is far away From this world's fitful fire And this world's waning day; In a dream it overleaps A world of tedious ills To where the sunshine sleeps On th' everlasting hills. Say the Saints--There Angels ease us Glorified and white. They say--We rest in Jesus, Where is not day nor night.
My Soul saith--I have sought For a home that is not gained, I have spent yet nothing bought, Have laboured but not attained; My pride strove to rise and grow, And hath but dwindled down; My love sought love, and lo! Hath not attained its crown. Say the Saints--Fresh Souls increase us, None languish nor recede. They say--We love our Jesus, And He loves us indeed.
I cannot rise above, I cannot rest beneath, I cannot find out Love, Nor escape from Death; Dear hopes and joys gone by Still mock me with a name; My best beloved die And I cannot die with them. Say the Saints--No deaths decrease us, Where our rest is glorious. They say--We live in Jesus, Who once died for us.
Oh, my Soul, she beats her wings And pants to fly away Up to immortal Things In the Heavenly day: Yet she flags and almost faints; Can such be meant for me? Come and see--say the Saints. Saith Jesus--Come and see. Say the Saints--His Pleasures please us Before God and the Lamb. Come and taste My Sweets--saith Jesus-- Be with Me where I am.