Views black’ning tempests round him flee;
Thy friendly aid points out the shore,
Where tempests cease, and storms are o’er.
When the tir’d Soldier, on the plain,
Sees battle rage, and thousands slain;
Thou bidd’st his care and anguish cease,
And bring’st the welcome sound of peace.
When the poor Captive, in his cell,
Is doom’d in chearless gloom to dwell,
Thy angel Vision sets him free;