But more than Prophet, more
  Than Angels can adore
With face unveiled, is He they go to seek:
  Blessed be God, Whose grace
  Shows Him in every place
To homeliest hearts of pilgrims pure and meek.

Of the bright things in earth and air
  How little can the heart embrace!
Soft shades and gleaming lights are there -
  I know it well, but cannot trace.

Mine eye unworthy seems to read
  One page of Nature's beauteous book;
It lies before me, fair outspread -
  I only cast a wishful look.

I cannot paint to Memory's eye
  The scene, the glance, I dearest love -
Unchanged themselves, in me they die,
  Or faint or false their shadows prove.

In vain, with dull and tuneless ear,
  I linger by soft Music's cell,
And in my heart of hearts would hear
  What to her own she deigns to tell.

'Tis misty all, both sight and sound -
  I only know 'tis fair and sweet -
'Tis wandering on enchanted ground
  With dizzy brow and tottering feet.

But patience! there may come a time
  When these dull ears shall scan aright
Strains that outring Earth's drowsy chime,
  As Heaven outshines the taper's light.

These eyes, that dazzled now and weak,
  At glancing motes in sunshine wink.