John Weiss (1818–1879)

BLEST spirit of my life, oh, stay!

Let not this rapture vanish soon;

For thus my earth is snatched away,

And lifted into heaven’s noon.

How clear the vision! how serene

The air through which my words aspire!

My narrow clay they leave to glean

In fields of infinite desire.

Oh, greatest grief of many days,

It is that thou, my heaven, art

So far, so faintly come the rays

That kindle heaven in my heart.

To-day a prisoner on leave

Am I: must I to bounds return?

Then make me blest that I can grieve,

And satisfied that I can yearn.

Thou Light, that makest lesser lights

To shine, burn up my cloudy sky!

To morning change my frequent nights;

Drop planets to me from on high.

My hope is wide to take them in,

Deeper than sight do I adore!

I am a little sail to win

In thy great breath my native shore.