But the hands of angels beckon
Onward to the climes above.
2 Let me go; for earth hath sorrow,
Sin, and pain, and bitter tears;
All its paths are dark and dreary,
All its hopes are fraught with fears;
Short-lived are its brightest flowers,
Soon its cherished joys decay:—
Let me go; I fain would leave it
For the realms of endless day.