"O THAT I HAD WINGS LIKE A DOVE."
O that to me were given
Wings upon which my gladsome soul might flee,
And rise with joy, a bird unchained and free,
Up to the azure heaven ;
How soon would I, in all my wishes blest,
Leave the dull things of earth and be at rest. At rest! O blissful word!
To rest from sin, from tumult, and from care,
To breathe the freshness of a purer air,
And hear the tones they heard
Who talked with angels upon earthly sod,
And among men did daily walk with God. It is a tiresome way
That we must tread adown life's shadowy vale,
When footsteps falter and our spirits fail
With fainter hope each day,
When the loved ones at morning by our side
Have with the fading hours grown pale and died. Lo! faith is sad and faint,
Like a caged dove that in her prison sighs
For the free light and beautiful blue skies,
And breatheth her complaint
Sadly in song, while up to heaven she fain
Would rise harmonious with that mournful strain. Grant dove-like wings to me;
No more should earthly things beguile my sight,
The spirit on its upward, homeward flight,
Swift in its course should be;
Till it might dwell amid the angel throng,
And wear their wings and sing their raptured song. I know not what I ask!
The dove from its dear resting place might fly
And seek a home 'neath the fair southern sky,
In its sunshine might bask;
Or flit with gay birds 'mid the dark leaved trees,
Whose laden boughs sway softly in the breeze. But I, like thee, O dove,
Though I were free and had the wings to roam,
Will still remain within my earthly home,
Still cling to earthly love—
Faith powerful in weakness still shall be,
And as my days will strength be given me.—Sel.