Nor surer would the blessing prove
Of humbled hearts, that own Thy love,
Should choral welcome from above
  Visit our senses plain:

Than by Thy placid voice and brow,
With healing first, with comfort now,
Turned upon him, who hastes to bow
  Before Thee, heart and knee;
"Oh! thou, who only wouldst be blest,
On thee alone My blessing rest!
Rise, go thy way in peace, possessed
  For evermore of Me."

Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies,
  Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
What more than magic in you lies,
  To fill the heart's fond view?
In childhood's sports, companions gay,
In sorrow, on Life's downward way,
How soothing! in our last decay
  Memorials prompt and true.

Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
  As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,
As when ye crowned the sunshine hours
  Of happy wanderers there.
Fall'n all beside—the world of life,
How is it stained with fear and strife!
In Reason's world what storms are rife,
  What passions range and glare!

But cheerful and unchanged the while
  Your first and perfect form ye show,
The same that won Eve's matron smile
  In the world's opening glow.
The stars of heaven a course are taught
Too high above our human thought:
Ye may be found if ye are sought,
  And as we gaze, we know.