A thousand ills encompass the fond pair,
And mix their sweets with bitterness and wo.
Bent in pursuit, through many a devious track,
All seem to say, “Successless is the search;
To nobler objects henceforth bend your view.”
All hail, Religion! thou celestial power!
Thy force alone can soothe the anxious breast,
And quite dispel the solitary gloom,
These sullen shades that steal upon the soul.
O let me hear thy salutary voice!