And indefinable wretchedness of soul.
O! could the heart be school’d—could it be made
True to its nature—to the impress graved
Upon it by the hand of Deity—
Could it be made to balance good and ill,
With purpose to be wise—could it but choose
The pure, and love it for its purity—
How blissful then, were thoughts of death and Heaven!
There—young lady! I’ve thought for your “Omnibus,”—pray, what do you think?