I see the realms of lasting Light.
These feeble pulses speak of death;
This clouded vision bids me look,
With the undaunted eye of faith,
To climes for which Elijah took
From Carmel’s cliffs his joyous way—
Translated to eternal day.
The blood which, in my childhood, rushed
Like mountain torrents in the isles
Where earth with constant life is flushed,