A weary, wandering soul am I,
O'erburthened with an earthly weight;
A pilgrim through the world and sky,
Toward the Celestial Gate.

Tell me, ye sweet and sinless flowers,
Who all night gaze upon the skies,
Have ye not in the silent hours
Seen aught of Paradise?

Ye birds, that soar and sing, elate
With joy, that makes your voices strong,
Have ye not at the golden gate
Caught somewhat of your song?

Ye waters, sparkling in the morn,
Ye seas, which glass the starry night,
Have ye not from the imperial bourn
Caught glimpses of its light?

Ye hermit oaks, and sentinel pines,
Ye mountain forests, old and gray,
In all your long and winding lines,
Have ye not seen the way?

O! moon, among thy starry bowers,
Know'st thou the path the angels tread?
Seest thou beyond thy azure towers
The shining gates dispread?

Ye holy spheres, that sang with earth,
When earth was still a sinless star,
Have the immortals heavenly birth
Within your realms afar?

And thou, O sun! whose light unfurls
Bright banners through unnumbered skies,
Seest thou among thy subject worlds
The radiant portals rise?

All, all are mute! and still am I
O'erburthened with an earthly weight;
A pilgrim through the world and sky,
Towards the Celestial Gate.

No answer wheresoe'er I roam —
From skies afar no guiding ray.
But, hark! the voice of Christ says, " Come!
Arise! I am the way! "