List I to the hurried beatings
Of my heart;
How its quickened, loud repeatings
Make me start!

Often do I hear it throbbing
Fast and wild;
As I've heard it, after sobbing,
When a child.

Why so wild, so swift and heated,
Little heart?
Is there something in thee seated,
Baffling art?

Pain with all thy throbs is blended--
Pain so dread!
Oftentimes life seems suspended
By a thread!

Then thou'lt grow so still--like ocean
In its rest;--
Till I scarce can feel a motion
In my breast.

Think'st thy house is dark and dreary,
Veiled in night?
Art thou pining, sad and weary,
For the light?

Wouldst be free from the dominions
That control;
Spreading all thy golden pinions
Toward the goal?

Gladly, gladly, would I free thee
From Earth's thrall!
With what bliss and joy to see thee
Rise o'er all!

But 'tis not for me to aid thee
In thy flight;
For the Holy One who made thee,
Doeth right.

When his own good time arriveth,
Then will He,
From the load with which thou strivest,
Set thee free.