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Home > Authors Index > Browse all available works of John S. Adams > Text of Heaven Sent, Heaven Returned

A poem by John S. Adams

The Heaven Sent, Heaven Returned

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Title:     The Heaven Sent, Heaven Returned
Author: John S. Adams [More Titles by Adams]

PURE as an infant's heart that sin ne'er touched,
That guilt had ne'er polluted; and she seemed
Most like an angel that had missed its way
On some kind mission Heaven had bade it go.
Her eye beamed bright with beauty; and innocence,
Its dulcet notes breathed forth in every word,
Was seen in every motion that she made.
Her form was faultless, and her golden hair
In long luxuriant tresses floated o'er
Her shoulders, that as alabaster shone.
Her very look seemed to impart a sense
Of matchless purity to all it met.
I saw her in the crowd, yet none were there
That seemed so pure as she; and every eye
That met her eye's mild glance shrank back abashed,
It spake such innocence.
One day she slept,--
How calm and motionless! I watched her sleep
Till evening; then, until the sun arose;
And then, would have awakened her,--but friends
Whispered in my ear she would not wake
Within that body more, for it was dead,
And she, now clothed in immortality,
Would know no more of change, nor know a care.
And when I felt that truth, methought I saw
A bright angelic throng, in robes of white,
Bear forth her spirit to the throne of God;
And I heard music, such as comes to us
Oft in our dreams, as from some unseen life,
And holy voices chanting heavenly songs,
And harps and voices blending in one hymn,
Eternal hymn of highest praise to God
For all the good the Heaven-sent one had done
Since first it left the heavenly fold of souls,
To live on earth, and show to lower man
How pure and holy, joyous and serene,
They may and shall assuredly become
When all the laws that God through Nature speaks
Are kept unbroken! * * *
* * * She had now returned,
And heaven resounded with angelic songs.
Before me lay the cold, unmoving form;
Above me lived the joyous, happy one!
And who should sorrow? Sure, not I; not she;
Not any one! For death,--there was no death,--
But that which men called death was life more real
Than heart had o'er conceived or words expressed!


[The end]
John S. Adams's poem: Heaven Sent, Heaven Returned

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