Object belov’d! when day to eve gives place,
And life’s best nectar thy fond vot’ry sips,
How sweet to gaze upon thy shining face,
And press thy tender form unto my lips!
Fair as the Naiad of the Grecian stream,
And beautiful as Oread of the lawn;
Bright-beaming as the iv’ry palac’d dream,
And melting as the Dewy Urns of dawn.
For thee I strike the sounding Lyre of song,
And hymn the Beautiful, the Good, the True;