Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/69

68 O may He grant me grace divine, while on these shores of time, To learn the dialect they speak in yon celestial clime.

Beside his glorious throne they rest, on seraph-harps they play; Why should I wish them back again in these cold tents of clay? A stricken, not a mournful man, I sigh, but not repine, For my heart is in that land of love, with those I hope to join.