Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely—flowers.

This world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,—
There's nothing true but Heaven.

This world has suns, but they are overcast; This world has sweets, but they're of ling'ring bloom; Life still expects, and empty falls at last; Warm Hope on tiptoe drops into the tomb.

It has thine own dear playful look—
Thy smile! thy sun-bright hair!
Thy brow—so like a holy book
With sweet thoughts written there!
The full, soft lids, half-raised above
Those blue and dreamy eyes,
Within whose gaze of trusting love
No fear—no falsehood lies!
Like lonely lakes of Heaven's pure rain
Reflecting only Heaven again.