XXXII.
I thank thee, holy Father! that I am
Immortal. ’Tis a cure for all my woes,
That soon they will be followed by the calm
Of Heavens’s tranquil and secure repose,
When this poor life has reach’d its blessed close.
There may be many sorrows more for me,
There may arise stern unrelenting foes;
But I will trust in Heaven, and thither flee,
When I am writhing ’neath opinion’s tyranny.