The bliss for which our spirits pine,
That bliss we feel shall yet be given-
Somehow, in some far realm divine,
Some marvelous state we name a heaven-

Is not the bliss of languorous hours,
A glory of calm measured range,
But life which feeds our noblest powers
On wonders of eternal change;

A heaven of action freed from strife,
With ampler ether for the scope
Of an immeasurable life,
And an unbaffled, boundless hope;

A heaven wherein all discords cease,
Self-torment, doubt, distress, turmoil,
The core of whose majestic peace
Is God-like power of tireless toil-

Toil without tumult, strain, or jar,
With grandest reach of range indeed,
Unchecked by even the farthest star
That trembles through infinitude,

In which to soar to higher heights
Through widening ethers stretched abroad,
Till in our onward, upward flights,
We touch, at last, the feet of God!

Time swallowed in Eternity!
No future, evermore, no past,
But one unbending Now to be
A boundless circle round us cast.

by Paul E. Hayne.