But may’st thou prove an emblem true
Of what the spoiler’s hand shall do
With one, who pensive here would view
A shadowy type in thee!
Let not the conqueror piecemeal slay,
With power by power in slow decay;
But strike, and all in ashes lay!
Farewell, my good old tree!
[THROUGH THE CLOUDS.]
Through the clouds that veil the sky,
Come, O sun, and sweetly smile!
Show thy glory to mine eye,
So my heart may beam the while.
Come, and chase this day of night,
For the world is sadly dim.
To thy blessed face of light
Let my spirit sing her hymn.
Now, in silence and alone,
I, to pass the heavy hour,
Sit and fancy nature’s moan
After thy reviving power.
Blasts of wildered, wandering air,
Asking where thy face can be,
Chill and cheerless, every where,
Sighing, wailing, seek for thee.
Mourning o’er the earth is spread;
Bud and flower look pale with grief.
Sick, the plant has hung its head;
Dulness weighs on every leaf.
Not a bird is heard to sing.
Reft of thine inspiring ray.
As a lyre of every string,
Each from sight is hid away.