Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power,
The pledge of Joy’s anticipated hour?
Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man—
Her dim horizon bounded to a span;
Or, if she hold an image to the view,
’Tis Nature pictured too severely true.
With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heavenly light,
That pours remotest rapture on the sight:
Thine is the charm of life’s bewildered way,
That calls each slumbering passion into play.