Oft Have I Sat in Secret Sighs

Oft have I sat in sec­ret sighs

To feel my flesh de­cay;

Then groaned aloud with fright­ed eyes

To view the tot­ter­ing clay.

But I for­bid my sor­rows now

Nor dares the flesh com­plain;

Diseases bring their pro­fits

too;

The joy o’er­comes the pain.

My cheer­ful soul now all the day

Sits wait­ing here and sings;

Looks thro’ ru­ins of her clay

And prac­tices her wings.

Faith al­most chang­es in­to sight

While from afar she spies

Her fair in­her­it­ance

in light

Above cre­at­ed skies.

Had but the pri­son walls been strong

And firm

with­out a flaw

In dark­ness she had dwelt too long

And less of glo­ry saw.

But now the ev­er­last­ing hills

Through ev­ery chink ap­pear

And some­thing of the joy she feels

While she’s a pri­son­er here.

Bright Heav­en rushes sweet­ly in

At all the gap­ing flaws;

Of end­less bliss are vi­sions seen;

And na­tive air she draws.

O may these walls stand tot­tering still

The breach­es nev­er close

If I must here in dark­ness dwell

And all this glo­ry lose!

O ra­ther let this flesh de­cay;

The ru­ins wider grow

Till

glad to see th’en­larg­èd way

I stretch my pin­ions through.