Thy look is in my heart,
Thy bosom is my resting-place,
And yet I must depart.
Earth on my soul is strong—too strong—
Too precious is its chain,
All woven of thy love, dear friend,
Yet vain—though mighty—vain!
Thou see’st mine eye grow dim, beloved!
Thou see’st my life-blood flow—
Bow to the Chastener silently,