Lord! rebuke our sullen night,
And give Thyself unto our sight!
H. H. Milman.
The Soul!—the Soul!—with its eye of fire,
Thus, thus shall it soar when its foes expire;
It shall spread its wings o’er the ills that pained,
The evils that shadowed, the sins that stained;
It shall dwell where no rushing cloud hath sway,
And the pageants of earth shall have melted away.
Mrs. Sigourney.