Those eyes that beam so beauteous bright,
And all the heaven within declare,
May set ere long in starless night
Or kindle with demoniac glare.
The thrilling voice, oft heard to bless,
Whose accents memory would prolong,
May tell the story of distress,
Or warble sorrow's broken song.
That heart where feeling holds its throne,
Which fondly beats to love and me,
Cold as the unsunned marble stone,
May lie in frigid apathy.
Lord of all good! thy fiat spake
To birth, the blessings that I have;--
Lord of all worlds! 'tis thou canst take
Again, the boon that mercy gave:
Take all, but hear my earnest prayer,
'Tis breathed in tears, reject it not,--
Take all--but let me never share
The hopeless, soulless MANIAC'S lot.
