 | The triumph of music |  |
SONNET.
Of all ærial friends most sweetly kind,
Heaven's dearest gift to fall'n, and rescu'd man!
Tho' built in brilliant air, on fancy's plan,
Thy splendid castles we must often find
In ruins, still I feel my heart inclin'd
To love thy works, that look o'er life's low span,
And of bright visions sparkle in the van;
Hail to thee, Hope! thou darling of my mind!
Heaven's dearest gift to fall'n, and rescu'd man!
Tho' built in brilliant air, on fancy's plan,
Thy splendid castles we must often find
In ruins, still I feel my heart inclin'd
To love thy works, that look o'er life's low span,
And of bright visions sparkle in the van;
Hail to thee, Hope! thou darling of my mind!
If oft thy sublunary fabricks fall,
It is to teach us we should only call
That heavenly fortress of thy hand our own;
Where fraud can ne'er deceive, nor force appal;
Where faith and love to thee, sweet Hope! have shewn,
How thy firm power may rest on God's eternal throne!
It is to teach us we should only call
That heavenly fortress of thy hand our own;
Where fraud can ne'er deceive, nor force appal;
Where faith and love to thee, sweet Hope! have shewn,
How thy firm power may rest on God's eternal throne!
| The triumph of music | |