Immortal Longings

Dublin Core

Title

Immortal Longings

Description

Christ, let me come to Thee!

My heart is weary and I long for rest:

Is not my earthly mission well-night done?

I cannot bear this burden on my breast—

It weights my spirit downward like a stone.

My saddened life is ever [?] in clouds.

And midnight darkness hath came o'er my soul.

My once bright hopese are wrapped away in shrouds,

And sorrow's heavy [?] me roll;

Sweet Christ, Oh! may I come?


Christ, let me come to Thee!

Life hath a dark Sahara [?] to me!

The few bright flowers that bloomed along my way

Were soon transplanted—[?] beloved [?]

To bloom perennial in the "perfect day."

My dear loved ones sit round the Golden Throne,

And wait—a broken circle till I come;

Let me not linger here on earth alone—

Oh! let me join them in heir heavenly home!

Sweet Christ, oh! may I come?


Christ, let me come to Thee!

Behind me roars the angry ocean tide;

Each created wave comes nearer, nearer still;

The muttered thunders in the billows hide:

I shudder at their hoarse, loud voices so chill,

I cannot meet the fierce, wild storm of Life!

I have no strength to battle with it more!

Too long I've wrestled in the painful strife,

I must lay down the burden that I bore.

Sweet Christ, oh! may I come?


Christ, let me come to Thee!

In dreams I heart the white-robed angels sing

The golden glories of their beautous land;

I hear the rustle of each snowy wing,

And feel my touch upon my fevered hand.

Colder than ever seems the earth to me,

When I awake and see them flit away;

I strain my eyes, the last bright glimpse to see,

And watch them vanquish through the gates of day,

Sweet Christ, oh! may I come?


Christ, let me come to Thee!

I watch my toiling breath grow faint and slow;

I note the hectic deepening, day by day,

And feel my life is like a wreath of snow,

Which one kind breath of heaven would melt away.

A little longer in this world of vice—

The wished-for boundary is passed—

I see the shining shore of Paradise,

I know my pain is o'er at last.

Sweet Christ, oh! let me come!


Christ, let me come to Thee:

I've seen the gates that guard thy holy clime!

And often caught a gleam of thee within;

I know they'll open in thine own good time,

And let thy weary wandering child come in.

I've had, through all this weary care and pain,

One blessed hope, that ne'er has known despair—

It cheers me like the sunshine after rain!

I know thou'lt hear my deep and heartfelt prayer,

And let me come to Thee!

Creator

Unattributed

Source

1:17, p. 4

Date

11.23.1861

Citation

Unattributed, “Immortal Longings,” Periodical Poets, accessed May 17, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/745.

Comments

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