And win back our hearts to their sympathies.
For what though the mountains and skies be fair,
Steep’d in soft hues of the summer air?
’Tis the soul of man, by its hopes and dreams,
That lights up all nature with living gleams.
Where it hath suffer’d and nobly striven,
Where it hath pour’d forth its vows to heaven;
Where to repose it hath brightly pass’d,
O’er this green earth there is glory cast.
And by that soul, midst groves and rills,