Poems (Hoffman)/A Dream Picture (I dreamed of one who just had died)
A DREAM PICTURE.
I dreamed of one who just had died,
Sweet mercy painted o'er the past;
And evermore I see her last
Risen immortal, glorified.
She stood—a cloud beneath her feet—
Her countenance divinely sweet;
Her robes were draperies of white,
Her hair an aureole of light.
She sang, and oh! I heard as here
The same dear voice, more rich, more clear.
Yet, as if seeing all the wrong,
And sin, and sadness of mankind,
Her calm eyes gazed across the world
Of sorrows she had left behind;
And all that look, that voice, that song
Full of sweet earnestness to save
That lost world from its wrong.
I see that picture hanging still
On Memory's walls, a thing sublime;
I know it cannot fade until
I close my eyes on scenes of time;
And yet I wish some artist's hand
Might paint her life-sized portrait, just
As in that dream she came to me
Risen immortal from the dust.
That all the world might look and see,
The careless world of jests and songs,
How angels gaze upon their wrongs;
How heaven bends over earth to save,
And love uprisen from the grave
Can sing for earth no song beside
A saviour—Christ for man has died,
And risen, immortal, glorified.
Sweet mercy painted o'er the past;
And evermore I see her last
Risen immortal, glorified.
She stood—a cloud beneath her feet—
Her countenance divinely sweet;
Her robes were draperies of white,
Her hair an aureole of light.
She sang, and oh! I heard as here
The same dear voice, more rich, more clear.
Yet, as if seeing all the wrong,
And sin, and sadness of mankind,
Her calm eyes gazed across the world
Of sorrows she had left behind;
And all that look, that voice, that song
Full of sweet earnestness to save
That lost world from its wrong.
I see that picture hanging still
On Memory's walls, a thing sublime;
I know it cannot fade until
I close my eyes on scenes of time;
And yet I wish some artist's hand
Might paint her life-sized portrait, just
As in that dream she came to me
Risen immortal from the dust.
That all the world might look and see,
The careless world of jests and songs,
How angels gaze upon their wrongs;
How heaven bends over earth to save,
And love uprisen from the grave
Can sing for earth no song beside
A saviour—Christ for man has died,
And risen, immortal, glorified.