FROM MORTAL SENSE MADE FREE
Restless, ill at ease,
Like hunger ne'er appeased
Is the mortal sense of things,
And its striving never brings
Within our grasp the real and true;
It is the higher aim that brings
The pure and good to view.
Like hunger ne'er appeased
Is the mortal sense of things,
And its striving never brings
Within our grasp the real and true;
It is the higher aim that brings
The pure and good to view.
The longing from this miserable self to be free—
Toward the dayspring our weary eyes begin to see
The rays of risen light
Which will lift us from the shadows of the night.
Toward the dayspring our weary eyes begin to see
The rays of risen light
Which will lift us from the shadows of the night.