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Oh! could the kind inquirer gaze
Upon thy brow, with gladness fraught,
Its smile, like inspiration's rays,
Would give the answer to his thought.
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And could he see thy sportive grace
Soft blending with submission due,
Or note thy tenderness
To every just emotion true; --
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Or, when some new idea glows
On the pure altar of the mind,
Observe the exulting tear that flows
In silent ecstasy refined; --
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Thy active life, thy look of bliss,
The sparkling of thy magic eye,
Would all his skeptic, doubts dismiss,
And bid him lay his pity by, --
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To bless the ear that ne'er has known
The voice of censure, pride, or art,
Nor trembled at that sterner tone,
Which, while it tortures, chills the heart; --
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And bless the lip that ne'er could tell
Of human woes the vast amount,
Nor pour those idle words that swell
The terror of our last account.
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For sure the stream of silent course
May flow as deep, as pure, as blest,
As that which rolls in torrents hoarse,
Or whitens o'er the mountain's breast, --
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As sweet a scene, as fair a shore,
As rich a soil, its tide may lave,
Then joyful, and accepted pour
Its tribute to the Eternal wave.
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