No longer vassals to the changeful hour;
That life’s last roses to my thoughts can bring
Rich visions of imperishable spring:
I bless thee, O my God!
Yes! the young, vernal voices in the skies
Woo me not back, but, wandering past mine ear,
Seem heralds of th’ eternal melodies,
The spirit-music, imperturb’d and clear—
The full of soul, yet passionate no more:
Let me, too, joining those pure strains, adore!