There lies a land beyond the wave <br />Of time's tempestuous flood; <br />Our dreary bank must be the grave, <br />And Death our pilot good, <br />If we would reach that wish'd-for land, <br />And mingle with its happy band. <br /> <br />No Envy there, a bloodhound grim, <br />Pursues us on our way; <br />The eye of Avarice is dim; <br />There Rapine does not prey. <br />We leave, in that blessed pilgrimage, <br />Age, and the woes that wait on age. <br /> <br />Then let me bid this world farewell, <br />And hearts I loved the best; <br />For who on earth would wish to dwell <br />When Heaven offers rest? <br />The gospel shall my compass be; <br />Now, Death, I dare put forth with thee.<br /><br />Peter John Allan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dirge-8/
