George Washington Doane (1790–1859)

SAW ye that cloud, which arose in the west,

As the burning sun sank down to his rest,

How it spread so wide, and tower’d so high,

O’er the molten gold of that glowing sky,

That it seem’d—Oh! it seem’d like some arched way,

As it beam’d and gleam’d, in that glorious ray,

Where the spirit, freed

From its earthly weed,

And robed in the white

Of the saints in light,

Might pass from the waves of sin and wo,

To that world where ceaseless pleasures flow!

Ye saw that cloud, how it tower’d alone,

Like an arched path o’er the billows thrown,

How its pillars of azure and purple stood,

And mock’d at the dash of the angry flood,

While it beam’d—oh! it beam’d from its battlements high,

As it gleam’d, and stream’d, in that western sky,

Such a flood of mellow and golden light,

As chain’d and fix’d the ravish’d sight,

And pour’d, along our dark’ning way,

The peace and joy of celestial day.

Such, as we haste to our heavenly home,

SAVIOUR! such be the sights that come—

Thus, while the visions of time flit by,

And the fashion of earth grows dim to our eye,

Thus, let the light—oh! the light of thy love,

Beam bright on our sight from the mansions above—

Rending the gloom

Which enwraps the tomb,

And guiding our eye

To that world on high,

Where the people who love thee, for ever shall share

The rest thou hast purchased, and gone to prepare.