Look thou afar, and tell me true
What thou discernest!—­Oh! my eyes grow dim,
And floods of golden glories seem to swim,
  Wave upon wave, through all the cloudless blue,
Blinding me with their sunny splendors quite,
So that, amid the pure excess of light,
  But vaguest visions faintly glimmer through.

  Yet now, methinks, I seem to see
One spot of burning brightness, beaming clear
Through all the floating glory, like a sphere
  Quenching light with its own intensity. 
Yes! yes! it is the Holy City I behold,
With God’s sun, from its towers of burnish’d gold,
  Reflected broadly through immensity!

  I must gaze out, although I die: 
Ah! yes, I see it through my longing tears—­
A great clear glow of glory there appears,
  Like a light-fountain in the eastern sky,
That as I gaze pours forth its living light,
Flooding Creation, till the dazzled sight
  Sees Heaven in all things that around it lie.

  So shall it ever henceforth be—­
Who, that discerneth once God’s dwelling-place,
Can blot from vision the refulgent trace! 
  Ay! henceforth all things shall be Heaven to me—­
And as I journey on shall brightly rise
Divinest semblances of Paradise—­
  Heaven mine in Time and in Eternity.

THE DARK RIVER.

  Across the mountains and the hills,
Across the valleys and the swelling seas,
  By lakes and rivers whose deep murmur fills
Earth’s dreams with sweet prophetic melodies,
  Together have we come unto this place,
  And here we say farewell a little space: 

  You, backward turning through the land,
To tarry ’mid its beauty yet awhile—­
  I, o’er the River, to another strand
With cheerful heart, so part we with a smile. 
  Shall space have any power o’er god-like souls? 
  Love shall bridge o’er the stream that ’twixt us rolls!

  Together wend we to the tide,
And as the first wave wets my foot, we part;—­
  E’en now methinks I see the other side;
And, though the stream be swift, a steady heart
  And stalwart arm shall quell its cold dark waves. 
  Faith falters not e’en when the tempest raves.

  Dark stream flowing so blackly on,
Thy turbid billows roll o’er golden sands;
  Beneath the surface all thy fear is gone,
And precious gems fill full the diver’s hands. 
  Yet how the heart lists breathless for the roar
  Of billows plashing on the other shore!

  The other shore!—­Oh thou dim Land! 
Hid by faint mists from the spent swimmer’s eyes,
  Until upon the sloping bank he stand,
Mute in the light of Eden-mysteries;
  Thou golden Ophir of Youth’s spirit-dream,
  Shall I then reach thee through this turbid stream?

  Friend! quail not!  This same gloomy tide
Rolling its fearful breakers to the shore,
  Shall be transform’d, upon the other side,
Into the crystal Life-stream, shaded o’er
  By Paradisal groves, whose mellow fruit
  Shall heal the sorrows of the destitute.