Of the rich upper day;
But in that shadowy world below,
How my heart bless’d its ray!
And still, the farther from my sight
Torches and lamps were borne,
The purer, lovelier, seem’d the light
That wore its beams unshorn.
Oh! what is like that heavenly spark?
—A friend’s kind, steadfast eye;
Where, brightest when the world grows dark,