Shall I not then drop down from sphere to sphere,
Palsied and aimless?
Or will my being new so changed appear
That grief dies nameless?
Rather, I pray Him who Himself is Love,
Out of whose essence
All pure souls spring, and towards Him tending, move
Back to His presence—
His light transfiguring, may not efface
The soul's earth-features,
That the dear human likeness each may trace—
Glorified creatures:
That we may love each other, only taught
Holier desiring;
And seek all wisdom, as on earth we sought,
Ever aspiring:
That we may do all work we left undone
Through frail unmeetness;
From sphere to sphere together passing on
Towards full completeness.
Then, strong Azrael, be thy solemn call
Soft as spring-breezes,
Or like this blast, whose loud fiend-festival
My heart's pulse freezes—
I will not fear thee!—If thou safely keep
My soul, God's giving,
And my soul's soul—I, wakening from death's sleep,
Shall first know living.
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