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,

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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,

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