Yet, yet, I see thee thro' the distance peeping,
Mine own sweet home, and fling renew'd adieus —
Onward, my steps, O onward! lest my weeping
O'erpower me with the thoughts of what I lose.
I see thy golden doors — awake or sleeping,
Thou land of peace — like sunbeams midst the dews:
Vain dreams! for I thro' darksome woods am creeping —
I have no mansion, but the clouds' wild hues.
Turn not, O turn not back — shine, day-star, shine!
Ye birds of heaven pour out your loudest songs —
Lift, thou fierce storm, that awful voice of thine —
Shout mountains, shout! what pang to man belongs,
Man may bear bravely — I resolve — and yet
Turn back — and then I feel my eyes are wet.