But far unlike the former dreams,
  The heart's sweet moonlight softly gleams
Upon life's varied view, so joyless erst and cold.

  As mountain travellers in the night,
  When heaven by fits is dark and bright,
Pause listening on the silent heath, and hear
  Nor trampling hoof nor tinkling bell,
  Then bolder scale the rugged fell,
Conscious the more of One, ne'er seen, yet ever near:

  So when the tones of rapture gay
  On the lorn ear, die quite away,
The lonely world seems lifted nearer heaven;
  Seen daily, yet unmarked before,
  Earth's common paths are strewn all o'er
With flowers of pensive hope, the wreath of man forgiven.

  The low sweet tones of Nature's lyre
  No more on listless ears expire,
Nor vainly smiles along the shady way
  The primrose in her vernal nest,
  Nor unlamented sink to rest
Sweet roses one by one, nor autumn leaves decay.

  There's not a star the heaven can show,
  There's not a cottage-hearth below,
But feeds with solace kind the willing soul -
  Men love us, or they need our love;
  Freely they own, or heedless prove
The curse of lawless hearts, the joy of self-control.

  Then rouse thee from desponding sleep,
  Nor by the wayside lingering weep,
Nor fear to seek Him farther in the wild,
  Whose love can turn earth's worst and least
  Into a conqueror's royal feast:
Thou wilt not be untrue, thou shalt not be beguiled.