V. SACRED MELODY.
THERE IS A THOUGHT.
I
There is a thought can lift the soul
Above the dull cold sphere that bounds it,—
A star, that sheds its mild control
Brightest when Grief's dark cloud surrounds it,—
And pours a soft, pervading ray
Life's ills may never chase away!
II
When earthly joys have left the breast,
And even the last fond hope it cherished
Of mortal bliss—too like the rest—
Beneath Woe's withering touch hath perished,
With fadeless lustre streams that light;
A halo on the brow of night!
III
And bitter were our sojourn here
In this dark wilderness of sorrow,
Did not that rainbow-beam appear,
The herald of a brighter morrow;
A merciful beacon from on high
To guide us to Eternity!
1815.
