Will no bright hour departed joys restore?
Shall the sad parent meet her child no more?
Behold no more the soul-illumined face,
The expressive smile, the animated grace!
Must the fair blossom, wither’d in the tomb,
Revive no more in loveliness and bloom?
Descend, blest faith! dispel the hopeless care,
And chase the gathering phantoms of despair;
Tell that the flower, transplanted in its morn,
Enjoys bright Eden, freed from every thorn;