The dread that weighs his ardent spirit down;

[Pg 35]

Derides the warning voice in mercy sent;

Rejects the thought of after-punishment;

In folly's vortex wastes the spring of youth,

Nor, till death summons, owns the awful truth;

Feels it too late to calm the agonies

Remorse has kindled—and despairing, dies!

But in the breast where true religion reigns

There is a balm for all these mental pains;

A sweet contentment, felt, but undefined,

A full and free surrender of the mind

To its divine-original; a trust

Which lifts to heaven the dweller of the dust.

The pilgrim, glowing with a hope divine,

Counts not the distance to the heavenly shrine;

He meets with guardian spirits on the road,

Who cheer his steps and ease his heavy load.

Serenely journeying to a better clime

He does not shudder at the lapse of time;

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