Smooth as the Stream, when sleeps the breezy Gale.
Yet tho’ they’re sprinkled with ethereal Dew?
With blooming Wreaths by Hands of Seraphs crown’d?
Tho’ Heav’n’s eternal Splendors burst to View?
And Harps celestial to their Ear resound?
Still grateful Mem’ry paints the absent Friend,
Not e’en the World to their Remembrance dies:
Their Mid-night Orisons to Heav’ns ascend
To stop the Bolt descending from the Skies.