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Phillis Wheatley - To a Clergyman on the Death of His Lady
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Where contemplation finds her sacred spring,
Where heav`nly music makes the arches ring,
Where virtue reigns unsully`d and divine,
Where wisdom thron`d, and all the graces shine,
There sits thy spouse amidst the radiant throng,
While praise eternal warbles from her tongue;
There choirs angelic shout her welcome round,
With perfect bliss, and peerless glory crown`d.
    While thy dear mate, to flesh no more confin`d,
 
Exults a blest, an heav`n-ascended mind,
Say in thy breast shall floods of sorrow rise?
Say shall its torrents overwhelm thine eyes?
Amid the seats of heav`n a place is free,
And angels open their bright ranks for thee;
For thee they wait, and with expectant eye
Thy spouse leans downward from th` empyreal sky:
"O come away," her longing spirit cries,
"And share with me the raptures of the skies.
"Our bliss divine to mortals is unknown;
"Immortal life and glory are our own.
"There too may the dear pledges of our love
"Arrive, and taste with us the joys above;
"Attune the harp to more than mortal lays,
"And join with us the tribute of their praise
"To him, who dy`d stern justice to stone,
"And make eternal glory all our own.
"He in his death slew ours, and, as he rose,
"He crush`d the dire dominion of our foes;
"Vain were their hopes to put the God to flight,
"Chain us to hell, and bar the gates of light."

    She spoke, and turn`d from mortal scenes her eyes,
Which beam`d celestial radiance o`er the skies.

    Then thou dear man, no more with grief retire,
Let grief no longer damp devotion`s fire,
But rise sublime, to equal bliss aspire,
Thy sighs no more be wafted by the wind,
No more complain, but be to heav`n resign`d
`Twas thine t` unfold the oracles divine,
To sooth our woes the task was also thine;
Now sorrow is incumbent on thy heart,
Permit the muse a cordial to impart;
Who can to thee their tend`rest aid refuse?
To dry thy tears how longs the heav`nly muse!
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