XIII.     

             Yes! I can suffer, sink with pain, With anguish I can ill sustain; Till not a hope has strength to spring, Till scarce a prayer can lift its wing; Yet in my inmost heart there lies A living fount that will arise, And, of itself, diffuse a balm, A healing and refreshing calm, A pure delight, a cooling glow, Which Hate and Meanness cannot know!           

             Yes! I can faint, and I can fear, The power of petty creatures here, Who trick dark deeds in gay disguise, And weave their web of brooded lies, With so few threads made smooth and fair, All seems plain sense and reason there; And yet I would not learn their art, Nor have their paltry spells by heart, Their rankling blood within my veins, For all the treasure earth contains!           

             Oft, panic-struck, I sink, dismay'd, Call, with expiring faith, for aid; When all my efforts useless seem,             Emptied of force as in a dream, My courage knows to persevere, Entwin'd, o'ergrown, o'ertowered by fear! As he who summoned in the night, At sudden wreck, in wild affright, Once throws his arms around a mast, Continues still to hold it fast, When sight and strength and aim are flown, When cold, benumb'd, and senseless grown, My soul, by hurrying tempests driven, Though blinded from the light of Heaven, Clinging, all hope, all comfort o'er, Must yet awaken on the shore!           

            

            

       XIV.     

       TO MR. AND MRS. EVERARD,     

 On their only Son's being in the Navy, 1811.     

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