|
|
Leave me, O
love which reachest but to dust, And thou, my mind,
aspire to higher things; Grow rich in that which
never taketh rust: Whatever fades but fading pleasure
brings. Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be, Which
breaks the clouds and opens forth the light That doth
both shine and give us sight to see. O, take fast
hold; let that light be thy guide In this small
course which birth draws out to death, And think how
evil becometh him to slide Who seeketh heaven, and
comes of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world! thy
uttermost I see: Eternal Love, maintain thy life in
me.
|
|
|