Than the blaze of that sun ’neath the curtains of night.
With the lovely illusions of day’s mellow’d scene,
All around him was radiant, and vocal, and green,
But now as he gaz’d on the sky and the air,
No melody rose, and no splendour was there.
“Oh! keep me,” he said, “in the path where I stray,
Illum’d by the warmth of some soul-cheering ray—
That my glance may be clear thro’ the cloud and the storm,
When the night of the grave has o’ershadow’d my form.”
He look’d as a child, but he felt as a man,