Poems (Shipton)/The Flight of the Dove

by Anna Shipton

THE FLIGHT OF THE DOVE.

"Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?"—Isaiah lx. 8.

I am going, mother, I am going
      To the spirit land;
O'er the titleless river flowing
      Where angels stand.
Yea, beyond that little star,
"Where God's holy children are,
To my home of light afar,
      Mid that blest band.

I am leaving, mother, I am leaving
      Sin's chains below;
All the woes that years are weaving,
      Never to know.
I shall live at Jesu's feet;
Sing the new song, clear and sweet.
Watch and pray that we may meet
      Where now I go.

I am praising, mother, I am praising
      Christ's love to me;
While thy dear eyes, downward gazing,
      No light can see;
Yet on yon glorious throne
Reigneth the Holy One:
Mother, when I am gone
      He'll comfort thee.

They are singing, mother, they are singing:
      Soft! Dost thou hear?
Hark! 'tis the echo ringing,
      Sweetly and clear.
Hark! hark! they seem to say,
"Come, happy child, away."
Oh, canst thou bid me stay?—
      Jesus is near!

He hath bought me, mother, He hath bought me.
      What can compare
To the robe He hath wrought me,
      The robe I shall wear?
Fair though the angels be,
Yet my soul pants to see
Jesus, who died for me:
      Lo, He is there!