Why should this immortal mind
Enslav'd by sense, be thus confined,
And never, never rise?
Why, thus amused with empty toys,
And soothed with visionary joys,
Forget her native skies?
The mind was formed to mount sublime
Beyond the narrow bounds of time,
To everlasting things;
But earthly vapors cloud her sight,
And hang with cold, oppressive weight
Upon her drooping wings.
The world employs its various snares,
Of hopes and pleasures, pains and cares,
And chained to earth I lie:
When shall my fettered powers be free,
And leave these seats of vanity,
And upward learn to fly?
Bright scenes of bliss, unclouded skies,
Invite my soul; oh, could I rise,
Nor leave a thought below!
I'd bid farewell to anxious care,
And say to every tempting snare,
Heaven calls and I must go.
Heaven calls,--and can I yet delay?
Can aught on earth engage my stay?
Ah! wretched lingering heart!
Come, Lord, with strength, and life, and light,
Assist and guide my upward flight,
And bid the world depart.