BLUE SKY

O! weary waste of shoreless blue

Where weary wing may never rest!

O! awful brightness burning through

The barrier of the gate of rest!

My spirit longs to reach the strand

Of sorrow-soothing shadowland.

But what can this poor spirit wear

To hide the naked wounds, pain-kissed

Beneath the searching, ceaseless glare

Of cloudless burning amethyst?

Where can the sad grey spirit fly

The unrelenting agony?

O! for some shadow-haunted stream

Where tired eyes might fall asleep,

And in the peace of darkling dream

See Sorrow's pageant homeward creep,

Feel angel hands with white caress

Soothe eyelids dark with heaviness!

O! for some minster where the balm

Of cooling touch my wounds might heal;

Where always dwells a Sabbath calm,

Made sweeter by the solemn peal

Of bells, that trembling fill the air

With noble notes of perfect prayer!