Songs of the Spirit

Far, far away, where desolation ends, There is a water of serenest blue ; And by it stands, as patient and as true As in the past, his form to whom I turn, And break my bondage and would touch anew His holy lips ; my body and spirit yearn ; He fades away, and fires of Hell within me burn. Still, as I journey through the waste, I see A silver figure more divine arise ; The Christ usurps the horizon for me, And He requickens the forgotten skies ; His golden locks are burning on my eyes, And He with rosy finger points the way, The blood-wrought mystic path of Paradise That leads at last through yonder icy spray Of Death to the blue vaults of the undying day. But oh ! this desert is a weary land, Poisons alone their prickly heads lift high ; The sun, a globe of fury, still doth stand In the dark basin of the burning sky. There is no water, no, nor herb, and I 45