Daughter of Heaven! if here, e’en here,
The wing of towering thought was thine;
If, on this dim and mundane sphere,
Fair truth illumed thy bright career,
With morning-star divine;
How must thy bless’d ethereal soul
Now kindle in her noontide ray,
And hail, unfetter’d by control,
The Fount of Day!
E’en now, perhaps, thy seraph eyes,