Passion Flowers (Watson)/To Paradise
To Paradise.
It is not some far voyage cross the seas,
Where sullen waves in angry billows beat,
And low descending clouds, in phalanx bold,
Flash out their menace as they wrathful meet.
It is not travel o'er the arid plains,
Where scorching glare and burning winds unite,
It is not weary struggling up the path,
To dim and distant frozen mountain height.
Ah! no; 'tis sudden freedom, and the sound
Of song exultant, and of sinless mirth!
A swift ecstatic vision of delight!—
Escape from galling manacles of earth!
The Lord's dear promise shows how short the way—
"In paradise thou'lt be with me to-day."
Where sullen waves in angry billows beat,
And low descending clouds, in phalanx bold,
Flash out their menace as they wrathful meet.
It is not travel o'er the arid plains,
Where scorching glare and burning winds unite,
It is not weary struggling up the path,
To dim and distant frozen mountain height.
Ah! no; 'tis sudden freedom, and the sound
Of song exultant, and of sinless mirth!
A swift ecstatic vision of delight!—
Escape from galling manacles of earth!
The Lord's dear promise shows how short the way—
"In paradise thou'lt be with me to-day."