Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/40

Rh

Few are my years, but they have fled In joy and sunshine o'er my head, Happy my transient life has been, And happier still life's closing scene.

Lord of my soul! I yield my breath To snatch thee from the chains of death; I claim the privilege divine, Which makes thee more than ever mine!

Yes, to my thrice blessed hands 'tis given ⠀ To ope the saffron gates of heaven; I bring beloved a boon to thee, A pure and bright eternity.

Yon dazzling orb has golden courts, And there the heaven-born loory sports, And thou with spirits blessed shalt dwell Mid fragrant fields of asphodel.