Distill’d amidst the gloom of night,
Dark hangs the dew-drop on the thorn;
Till, notic’d by approaching light,
It glitters in the smile of morn.
Morn soon retires, her feeble pow’r
The sun out-beams with genial day,
And gently, in benignant hour,
Exhales the liquid pearl away.
Thus on affliction’s sable bed