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.

These ghostly vapours, brooding low,
Shall melt to sunny glories o'er my head,
And through them shall the golden city glow,
Whither I hasten singing, angel-led;
Friend! there is but a cloud-veil 'twixt us and the light,
One step beyond, and Heaven is in our sight.

Now the stream laps my vesture hem;
Back thou from my sad bosom to the world,
Leaving me here this current cold to stem;
Soon from thy sight shall I be swiftly whirl'd
Into the mystic darkness--never fear!
God's hand shall guide me unto vision clear.

Already thou art growing dim,
And distant on the fast receding shore;
The tide is strong, but still I trust in Him,
And know that I shall safely struggle o'er,
For now the plash on yonder shore I hear,
Amid sweet angel voices calm and clear.