No vain petition for a swift relief,
No tearful eye, no broken hearts are there
"Care has no home
Within that realm of ceaseless praise and song;
Its tossing billows break and melt in foam,
Far from the mansions of the spirit-throng.
"The storm’s black wing
Is never spread athwart celestial skies;
Its wailings blend not with the voice of spring,
As some too tender floweret fades and dies."