I am pale with sick desire,
        For my heart is far away
From this world's fitful fire
        And this world's waning day;
In a dream it overleaps
        A world of tedious ills
To where the sunshine sleeps
        On the everlasting hills.--
        Say the Saints: There Angels ease us
                Glorified and white.
        They say: We rest in Jesus,
                Where is not day or night.

My soul saith: I have sought
        For a home that is not gained,
I have spent yet nothing bought,
        Have laboured but not attained;
My pride strove to mount and grow,
        And hath but dwindled down;
My love sought love, and lo!
        Hath not attained its crown.--
        Say the Saints: Fresh souls increase us,
                None languish or recede.
        They say: We love our Jesus,
                And He loves us indeed.
I cannot rise above,
        I cannot rest beneath,
I cannot find out love,
        Or escape from death;
Dear hopes and joys gone by
        Still mock me with a name;
My best belovèd die,
        And I cannot die with them.--
        Say the Saints: No deaths decrease us,
                Where our rest is glorious.
        They say: We live in Jesus,
                Who once died for us.

O my soul, she beats her wings
        And pants to fly away
Up to immortal things
        In the heavenly day:
Yet she flags and almost faints;
        Can such be meant for me?--
Come and see, say the Saints.
        Saith Jesus: Come and see.
        Say the Saints: His pleasures please us
                Before God and the Lamb.
        Come and taste My sweets, saith Jesus:
                Be with Me where I am.