Too blest, might deem mine angel nigh!
“He is—my spirit tells me so,
That soon shall quit this clay;
Freed from the load of earthly wo,
He bears my soul away.
The wo that pierces here my breast
In yonder world shall make me blest;
That for which here in vain I long,
In that pure sphere shall swell my song!
“Then, O thou Genius bright—draw near,