From the Spanish. Sonnets. III. The Native Land

(El Patrio Cielo)
By Francisco de Aldana

CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high,

Bright with a glory that shall never fade!

Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade,

Thy holy quiet meets the spirit’s eye.

There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence,

Gasping no longer for life’s feeble breath;

But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence

With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death.

Beloved country! banished from thy shore,

A stranger in this prison-house of clay,

The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee!

Heavenward the bright perfections I adore

Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way,

That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.