To Languish For His Native Air
To languish for his native air
Can the poor, wandering exile cease?
The tir’d his wish of rest forbear?
The tortur’d help desiring ease?
The slave no more for freedom sigh
Or I no longer pine to die?
As shipwreck’d mariners desire,
With eager grasp, to reach the shore
As hirelings long t’obtain their hire,
And veterans wish their warfare o’er;
I languish from this earth to flee,
And gasp for–immortality.
To heaven I left my mournful eyes,
And all within me groans, “how long?”
O were I landed in the skies!
The bitter loss, the cruel wrong,
Should there no more my soul molest,
Or break my everlasting rest.
O could I break this carnal fence,
Drop all my sorrows in the tomb,
On angel’s wings remove from hence,
And fly this happy moment home,
Quit the dark house of mouldering clay,
And launch into eternal day!