Suffers unwill’d, no flower or bird to fall:
Can the proud eye look upwards to yon dome,
Or view the rich array spread forth below,
And not feel pledges of a dearer home,
That make the bosom leap, the spirit glow,
And stretch its hopes far into eternity,
Till, like the Patriarch’s dove, it rests, great Lord on Thee.
On Thee, its ark of perfect holiness,
With tokens of its everlasting peace,
And certainty of fadeless joy to bless