And my mouth that has gnawed on the vines
Winter-beaten and faded and cold,
Is athirst for the harvested wines
And the fair-fashioned vessels of gold,
Which the goddess of truth shall hold to the
lips
Ere the passing soul in the shadow dips
And the hours of life are told.
THE NEW JERUSALEM.
WHEN the birds have hushed their
choirs,
Through the sunset's rifted fires,
Like a queenly diadem
Gleam afar the golden spires
Of the New Jerusalem.
Thorny be our path and sterile,
There is rest from pain and peril,
Where with many a flashing gem,
Jasper, chrysolite, and beryl,
Shines the New Jerusalem.
Not for these my heart beats faster,
But for her ascended Master.
Oh, to touch his garment's hem
In the courts of alabaster,
In the New Jerusalem !
