“Light! more light still!” it was thy last, last prayer!
And oh! how strove thy straining, dying eyes,
To pierce the far, impenetrable skies,
And read the mighty mystery, written there!
Alas! to us, poor dwellers in the clay,
Are given but glimpses of the Land of Day!
II.—SCHILLER.
“Keep true to the dream of thy youth.”
Thy dream of youth! ah, no! it ne’er forsook thee,
The worshiped Ideal of thy boyhood’s time;