Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/67

Rh

Oh! if too much exulting in her dower, My soul, not yet to lowly thought subdued, Hath stood without thee on her hill of power— A fearful and a dazzling solitude!— And therefore from that haughty summit's crown, To dim desertion is by thee cast down; Behold! thy child submissively hath bow'd— Shine on him through the cloud!

Let the now darken'd earth and curtain'd heaven Back to his vision with thy face be given! And wrapt and still'd by that o'ershadowing might, Forth on the empyreal blaze to look with chasten'd sight.

Or if it be, that like the ark's lone dove, My thoughts go forth, and find no resting-place, No sheltering home of sympathy and love, In the responsive bosoms of my race,