Bearing blest gifts from ’neath the throne of God;
And low, sweet tones oft sooth me while I sleep,
From the kind spirits that my vigils keep,
“Like to the strain that now around me lingers,
Roused, in my breast, from some long hidden string;
While choirs of air-harps, swept by seraphs’ fingers,
Upon my listening ear responsive ring —
Lo! my eyes catch the flash of glancing wings,
And half seen visions of all glorious things.”
Half seen no longer—from the sky were rolled