He gazed on the charms of the slow-dying day,
And thought, as it gave to some lovelier land,
The blaze of that light which the zenith had spann’d,
That a ray there must be to illumine the heart—
A guide and a goal for man’s innermost part—
A Glory unknown, to be follow’d and bless’d,
That again would recall what it gave to its breast.
When Love can a lustre so beautiful shed,
It were sad if the soul could be lost or misled,
Or its flight to its source be less cheerful and bright,