How long, great God, how long must I

Immured in this dark prison lie?

Where through the avenues of sense

My soul has dim intelligence;

Where but faint gleams salute my sight,

Like moonshine in a cloudy night.

When shall I leave this dusky sphere,

And be all mind, all eye, all ear?

How cold this clime! And yet my sense

Perceives even here Thy influence.

Even here the magnet’s power I feel,

And tremble like the attracted steel.

And though to beauties less divine

Sometimes my erring heart decline,

Yet soon (so strong the sympathy)

It turns, and points again to Thee.

I long to see this Excellence,

Which at such distance strikes my sense.

My soul struggles to disengage

Her wings from this her earthy cage:

Wouldst thou, great Love, once set her free,

How would she haste to unite with Thee!

She’d for no angel’s conduct stay,

But fly, and love on all the way.