I DO not ask—dear love—not I,
A jeweled crown to win,
Nor robe, nor crown—nor do I cry,
To those that guard the gates on high,
That they should let me in.

Oh, when they talk of far-off strands,
I have no heart to pray.
So lonely seem those heavenly lands,
I feel no wish for angel hands
To wipe my tears away.

I care not for that joyous throng,
My soul could never share
The endless bliss—the happy song;
How long the days, oh, God, how long,
If I should miss thee there.

Nay, love; I only could be blest
Close by thy side to be,
To hold thy hand—to lean at rest
Forever on thy faithful breast.
That would be heaven for me.