Menken, Adah Isaacs
LEAVE me; oh! leave me,
Lest I find this low earth sweeter than the skies.
Leave me lest I deem Faith's white bosom bared to
the betraying arms of Death.
Hush your fond voice, lest it shut out the angel
See my o'er wearied feet bleed for rest.
Loose the clinging and the clasping of my clammy
Your soft hand of Love may press back the dark,
awful shadows of Death, but the soul faints in the strife
and struggles of nights that have no days.
I am so weary with this climbing up the smooth steep
sides of the grave wall.
My dimmed eyes can no longer strain up through the
darkness to the temples and palaces that you have built
for me upon life's summit.
God is folding up the white tent of my youth.
My name is enrolled for the pallid army of the dead.