Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted?

  Thro' what Elysium more bright

Than fancy or hope ever painted,

  Walk ye in glory and light?

Who the same kingdom inherits?

  Breathes there a soul that may dare

Look to that world of Spirits,

  Or hope to dwell with you there?

Sages! who even in exploring

  Nature thro' all her bright ways,

Went like the Seraphs adoring,

  And veiled your eyes in the blaze—

Martyrs! who left for our reaping

  Truths you had sown in your blood—

Sinners! whom, long years of weeping

  Chastened from evil to good—

Maidens! who like the young Crescent,

  Turning away your pale brows

From earth and the light of the Present,

  Looked to your Heavenly Spouse—

Say, thro' what region enchanted

  Walk ye in Heaven's sweet air?

Say, to what spirits 'tis granted,

  Bright, souls, to dwell with you there?