This page needs to be proofread.
42
HEAVEN.
We may not hear the songs that echo there
Through those enchanted bowers.
The city's shining towers we may not see
With our dim, earthly vision ;
For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key
That opes those gates elysian.
But sometimes, where adown the western sky
The fiery sunset lingers,
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
Unlocked by silent fingers.
And while they stand a moment half ajar,
Gleams from the inner glory
Stream lightly through the azure vault afar,
And half reveal the story.
