Yes, life is but a waste,
A cheerless pathway, where
No healthy fruit allures the taste,
No flowerets balm the air,
If Love
The wild rose, ne'er luxuriates there,
Love is a guide, when lorn
The wanderer is astray,
'Mid dangers, and no star of dawn
To smile upon his way;
'Tis Love
Burns on the cloud, the gem of day!
Along affliction's coast,
Hard by despair's grim shoal,
She shines on him, the tempest-tossed,
The light-house of the soul;
And guides
Where storms repose, no oceans roll.
O thou Inspirer! who
Sang to my infancy,
And half life's rugged journey through
Hast still attended me,
I consecrate
My all to thee, to only thee!
When pleasure's mellow note
Allured me to her bowers,
Thou bad'st kind dreams of fancy float
Along the white-wing'd hours;
Thy smile
Did strew existence' path with flowers.
The lightning crossed my way,
Thou camest and in its scathe,
I but discerned the tempered ray
Of Love, around my path,--
A pillar given
When all was tempest, night and wrath.
Be nigh at the dread hour
Of nature's utmost need,
When unknown shadowy worlds appear,
And unreal scenes recede.
O then the spirit cheer,
And bid it on its passage speed!
