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.