How could my spirit have sprung up to God
Through the dark cloud which o’er its vision hung,
The night of fear and error?—thy dear hand
First raised that veil, and show’d the glorious world
My heritage beyond. Friend! love, and friend!
It was as if thou gavest me mine own soul
In those bright days! Yes! a new earth and heaven,
And a new sense for all their splendours born—
These were thy gifts; and shall I not rejoice
To die, upholding their immortal worth,