Called Home

A noble Soul, that nobly did aspire,
Still struggling upward like imprisoned fire,
Has heard the Master’s mandate, “Come up higher!”

And from its shattered tenement of clay
It sprang, and soared exultingly away,
Soaring and singing in Eternal Day,—

Glad, thus to leave the fetters it had worn;
Glad, thus to rise on angel-pinions borne,
Up to the Golden Palaces of Morn!

It is best so!—the shadows of the Night
Furl from our sky—for faith is more than sight,
And this great Soul was kindred with the Light,

And walked in light, made lustrous by its sheen,
And kept, unsullied by the false and mean,
The pure, white vesture of its manhood clean.

Life’s battle fought: and now, the victor’s palm,
The welcome home, the everlasting calm,
The crown of triumph, and the choral psalm!

What would we more? In faith we lift our eyes,
While a Voice whispers from the opening sies,
“He lives, embosomed in God’s sanctities!”