I love yon pale blue sky; it is the floor
Of that glad home where I shall shortly be;
A home from which I shall go out no more;
From toil and grief and vanity set free.

I gaze upon yon everlasting arch,
Up which the bright stars wander, as they shine;
And as I mark them in their nightly march,
I think how soon that journey shall be mine!

Yon silver drift of silent cloud, far up
In the still heav’n—through you my pathway lies:
Yon rugged mountain peak—how soon your top
Shall I behold beneath me, as I rise!

Not many more of life’s slow pacing hours,
Shaded with sorrow’s melancholy hue—
Oh, what a glad ascending shall be ours,
Oh, what a pathway up yon starry blue!

A journey like Elijah’s, swift and bright,
Caught gently upward to an early crown,
In Heaven’s own chariot of all-blazing light,
With death untasted and the grave unknown.