AT LAST.
HEN the sunset hour of this earthly dayShall come—O may that golden vase so break,
As brilliantly to gem the Death-robed sky
In purple gilded splendour, till the hills
Of Life, shall but become the steps that lead
To walls of jasper, and to streets of gold.
So would I tread this dusty road of Earth,
That when life's sunset hour shall on me fall,
And fling its glory on Death's river's brink,
Trailing its gems upon the rippling tide—
My soul no longer in Earth's shroud confined,
But in white "robes of Sardis," there shall reach
The mountain top, and then with joy behold
The Sunrise of Eternal Day—at last.
