It is to hope, though hope were lost.
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought, And Wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.
Man is the nobler growth our realms supply, And souls are ripened in our northern sky.
So when unseen destruction lurks, Which men like mice may share, May some kind angel clear thy path, And break the hidden snare.
If mind, as ancient sages taught, A never dying flame, Still shifts thro' matter's varying forms, In every form the same, Beware, lest in the worm you crush A brother's soul you find; And tremble lest thy luckless hand Dislodge a kindred mind.
The well taught philosophic mind To all compassion gives; Casts round the world an equal eye, And feels for all that lives.
The chearful light, the vital air, Are blessings widely given ; Let nature's commoners enjoy The common gifts of heaven.
OH! hear a pensive captive's prayer, For liberty that sighs ; And never let thine heart be shut Against the prisoner's cries.