On the fount of life eternal
Gazing wistful and athirst;
Yearning, straining, from the prison
Of confining flesh to burst;
Here the soul an exile sighs
For her native Paradise.

Weigh'd beneath a thousand evils,
From without and from within,
Oft she muses on her glory
Forfeited in Adam's sin;
And the past more bright appears
Through the mist of present tears.

Who can paint that lovely city,
City of true peace divine,
Whose pure gates, for ever open,
Each in pearly splendour shine;
All her streets empav'd with gold,
Clear as topaz to behold?

Whose foundations deep-descending
Are of living jasper made;
All her walls and royal towers
With celestial gems inlaid;
Whose abodes of glory clear
Naught defiling cometh near.

There no stormy winter rages;
There no scorching summer glows;
But through one perennial springtide,
Blooms the lily with the rose;
Bloom the myrrh and balsam sweet,
With the fadeless violet.

There a Paradisal perfume
Breathes upon the air serene;
There crystalline waters flowing
Keep the grass for ever green;
And the golden orchards show
Fruits that ne'er corruption know.

There no sun his circuit wheeleth;
There no moon or stars appear;
Thither night and darkness come not;
Death has no dominion there;
In its stead, the Lamb's pure ray
Scatters round eternal day.

There the Saints of God, resplendent
As the sun in all his might,
Evermore rejoice together,
Crown'd with diadems of light;
And from peril safe at last,
Reckon up their triumphs past.

Purg'd from every least defilement
That was grief to them before;
Flesh and spirit now agreeing
And at enmity no more;—
Peace is theirs without alloy,
Peace and plenitude of joy.

From a changeful world remounting
To the source from whence they came,
Theirs it is to see undazzled
Truth through endless years the same;
And in life's eternal river
Satisfy their hearts for ever.

O, how blest! who own a being
Which of no disturbance knows:
Who from glory's central fountain
Drink ineffable repose;
Roseate youth, that never fades;
Health, which no disease invades!

O, how blest! to whom for ever
Passing things are pass'd away;
Who in sprightly vigour blooming,
Live impassive to decay;
Subject now no more to die,
Clothed with immortality!

Knowing Him who knoweth all things,
Naught to them remains unknown;
Each the bosom of the other
Scans as though it were his own;
All their wills and thoughts agree,
Link'd in perfect unity!

Differing as below in merits,
So in glory now above;
Each the graces of the other
Makes his own by mutual love;
And the bliss of every breast
Swells the joy of all the rest.

Where the Saviour's victim Body
Sits aloft in glorious state,
Thither, like the crowding eagles,
Countlessly they congregate;
And with Angels share the Food
That unites the soul with God.

There they eat the Bread of Heaven!
There they drink of life their fill!
There insatiate ever feasting,
Feel a thirst and hunger still;
Hunger, which itself is sweet;
Thirst, with endless joys replete!

There in strains harmonious blending,
They their dulcet anthems sing;
And, on harps divinely thrilling,
Glorify their glorious King;
Aided by whose arm of might,
They were victors in the fight.

While, below, its mazes threading,
Far in distant space they see
All the fabric of creation
In its vast immensity,—
Sun and moon and planets clear,
With the starry hemisphere.

Happy he, who with them seated
Doth in all their glory share!
O that I, my days completed,
Might be but admitted there!
There with them the praise to sing
Of my beauteous God and King.

Look, O Jesu! on Thy soldier,
Worn and wounded in the fight;
Grant, O grant him, rest for ever
In Thy beatific sight;
And Thyself his guerdon be
Through a long eternity.