Page:Poems translated from the French of Madame De la Mothe Guion.djvu/76

 'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,

And doubles all its fires.

Flames of encircling Love invest,

And pierce it sweetly through;

'Tis fill'd with sacred joy, yet press'd

With sacred sorrow too.

Ah Love! my heart is in the right—

Amidst a thousand woes,

To thee, its ever new delight,

And all its peace, it owes.

Fresh causes of distress occur,

Where'er I look or move;

The comforts, I to all prefer,

Are solitude and love.

Nor exile I, nor prison fear;

Love makes my courage great;

I find a Saviour ev'ry where,

His grace, in ev'ry state.

Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,

Exclude his quick'ning beams;

There I can sit, and sing, and weep,

And dwell on heav'nly themes.

There, sorrow, for his sake, is found

A joy beyond compare;

There, no presumptuous thoughts abound,

No pride can enter there.