But I willed, not in such a state to dwell, If, O Christ, I may return, And once more learn The power of thy love and grace. While I may not behold the glory of thy face, I only ask to see and to adore, As many a penitent and I afore, The prints of spear and nail which with utmost woe were driven, Till thy life and all thy matchless wealth were given For captive and vexed sinners like to me, To set them free, In hope of peace and heaven.
Since that awful day the changing seasons have faster flown, And what must I to men make known? After the passing of two thousand years Of man’s bravest fights, greatest victories and fears, With ofttimes self-imposed torment and tears, Thy transcendent heights for me are more increased— Thou savest me, the very least.
Thou ancient and invisible I Am Art one with Heaven’s youthful, adorable Lamb, For looking by faith behind the veil I see The cross still piercing through thy very heart, Thy great salvation to impart; And herein I’ll glory eternally. Accept my life and this my final, whole-hearted word, O ever living, ever loving, most glorious Lord.
Thou hast no sting, Terror none, O doomed Death; My whole duty done, I shall welcome thee.
To the vigilant and victorious, Thou bringest the better, Quite unwittingly, The higher, and yet The highest.
Thou art the open gate To Life, Thou rapacious mocker, Thy dark, grim visage Is transformed into a beacon of light, Balmy, buoyant, beautiful.
A new glory has the sun At his setting, Giving yet greater beauty to his resplendent light, For myriads of admiring men, For sated beasts and singing birds at eventide. Life-kisses are cast upward To receiving and ever grateful stars and starlets, Beneficiaries afar, In their cosmic course. All these and more perpetually pass on, In holy and soft-toned harmonies, The life-filled fruitage of conquered Death.
Angels, beyond thy touch, Sing and dance, On their winged way, As ministers of Jehovah, Bringing to the so-called dead A chalice of new life.
And perfected souls and saints, Giving forth with joy their divinest ministrations, Are co-workers with the Highest, For the varied glory and ever increasing fullness Of eternal life.
Thou art a misnomer, O arch Deceiver! The last lie thou art, To be bravely faced, denied, disproved. The serene, The trustful, The Christ ones, Planting their feet Upon thy bosom, All shadowy and unreal, Will proclaim The paeans of life, Their holiest halleluiahs. Hence—my duty done— O darkest Death, Come thou for me.