Of Paradise; or list the moving strains
Of Eden’s harps; or revel in the light
Of gems that glisten on celestial plains,
Did we but bend more anxious ear and eye,
And learn to ope the heart-cells where they lie.
Yet Eva listened; for her steps had trod,
Fearless of clouds that rose her pathway o’er,
Closer than some do to the walks of God;
And, in her own warm heart, she ever bore
A flowing urn, from whence a balm was shed