Mine eye full oft, in search of thee,
Roams o’er that vast expanse of blue.
I know that here thy harp is mute,
And quenched the bright, poetic fire;
Yet still I bend my ear, to catch
The hymnings of thy seraph lyre.
O, if this partial converse now
So joyous to my heart can be,
How must the streams of rapture flow,
When both are chainless, both are free!—