Page:Amulet 1836.pdf/4

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Fed by the silver rains, a brook Went murmuring along, And to its music, from the leaves, The birds replied in song;

And, white as ever lily grew, A wilding broom essayed To fling upon the sunny wave A transitory shade.

Misty and grey as morning skies Mid which their summits stood, The ancient cliffs encompassed round The lovely solitude.

It was a scene where faith would take Lessons from all it saw, And feel amid its depths, that hope Was God's and Nature's law.

The past might here be wept away, The future might renew Its early confidence in heaven, When years and sins were few:

Till, in the strength of penitence, To the worst sinner given, The grave would seem a resting-place Between this world and heaven.