 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
154
KLOPSTOCK.
Dwell ye then round about us, cheering usAlike in crowded haunts and solitude,
Warding from ill, and ministering good,
O bright and blessed Sabaoth,—is it thus?
Alas, what can we give of gratitude
To your pure essences, that, o'er us each
Hovering, delight to love and aid and teach
Poor prisoners in the flesh?—Yon sainted bard
Who sang Messiah, loved the happy thought,
Praying that for his angel guide and guard
The spirit of his Cidli might be brought
Ev'n from the grave: O lover, didst thou err,
It were an error with such sweetness fraught,
I too would ask an angel minister.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |