Bow down in hope, in thanks, all ye who mourn;—
⁠Where'in that peerless arche of radiant hues
⁠Surpassing earthly tints,—the storm subdues!
Of nature's strife and tears 'tis heaven-born,
To soothe the sad, the sinning, and forlorn;
⁠A lovely loving token to infuse
⁠The hope, the faith, that pow'r divine endures
With latent good the woes by which we're torn.—
'Tis like a sweet repentance of the skies,
⁠To beckon all by sense of sin opprest,—
⁠Revealing harmony from tears and sighs!
A pledge:—that deep implanted in the breast
⁠A hidden light may burn that never dies,
But bursts thro' clouds in purest hues exprest!