On the bright cloud that fills the mercy-seat!
And thou may’st view, from thy divine abode,
The dust of empires flit before a breath of God.
And yet we mourn thee! Yes, thy place is void
Within our hearts! there veil’d thine image dwelt,
But cherish’d still; and o’er that tie destroy’d,
Though faith rejoice, fond nature still must melt.
Beneath the long-loved sceptre of thy sway,
Thousands were born, who now in dust repose;
And many a head, with years and sorrows gray,