Oh for the spirit which inspired of old The seer's prophetic song—the voice that spake Through Israel's warrior king. The strains that burst In thrilling tones from Zion's heaven-strung harp, Float down the tide of ages, shedding light On pagan shores and nations far remote: Eternal as the God they celebrate, Their fame shall last when Time's long race is run, And you refulgent eye of this fair world, — Its light and centre, —into darkness shrinks, Eclipsed for ever by the glance of Him Whose rising sheds abroad eternal day. Almighty, uncreated Source of life! To Thee I dedicate my soul and song; In humble adoration bending low Before thy footstool. Thou alone canst stamp A lasting glory on the works of man, Tuning the shepherd's reed, or monarch's harp, To sounds harmonious. Immortality Exists alone in Thee. The proudest strain That ever fired the poet's soul, or drew Melodious breathings from his gifted lyre, Unsanctioned by thy smile, shall die away Like the faint sound which the soft summer breeze Wins from the stately lily's silver bells; A passing murmur, a half-whispered sigh, Heard for a moment in the deep repose Of Nature's midnight rest—then hushed for ever! Parent of genius, bright Enthusiasm! Bold nurse of high resolve and generous thought, 'Tis to thy soul-awakening power we owe The preacher's eloquence, the painter's skill, The poet's lay, the patriot's noble zeal, The warrior's courage, and the sage's lore. Oh! till the soul is quickened by thy breath, Wit, wisdom, eloquence, and beauty, fail To make a just impression on the heart; The tide of life creeps lazily along, Soiled with the stains of earth, and man debased Sinks far below the level of the stream.
