John Newton.
One morn I mark’d two dewdrops bright,
Impendent on a thorny spray:
The gems had caught my roving sight,
Gay glittering in the sunny ray.
A sudden breeze pass’d o’er the ground,
And shook their faithless resting-place;
They trembled—waver’d—with a bound,
Commingled in a kind embrace,
’Tis thus, thought I, with loving hearts,