Leave me, O love which reachest but to dust, And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things; Grow rich in that which never taketh rust; What ever fades, but fading pleasure brings. Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be, Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light That doth both shine, and give us sight to see. O take fast hold, let that light be thy guide In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how ill becometh him to slide, Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath: Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see; Eternal love, maintain thy life in me. |