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| WHERE contemplation finds her sacred spring, | |
| Where heav’nly music makes the arches ring, | |
| Where virtue reigns unsully’d and divine, | |
| Where wisdom thron’d, and all the graces shine, | |
| There sits thy spouse amidst the radiant throng, | 5 |
| While praise eternal warbles from her tongue; | |
| There choirs angelic shout her welcome round, | |
| With perfect bliss, and peerless glory crown’d. | |
| |
| While thy dear mate, to flesh no more confin’d, | |
| Exults a blest, an heav’n-ascended mind, | 10 |
| Say in thy breast shall floods of sorrow rise? | |
| Say shall its torrents overwhelm thine eyes? | |
| Amid the seats of heav’n a place is free, | |
| And angels ope their bright ranks for thee; | |
| For thee they wait, and with expectant eye | 15 |
| Thy spouse leans downward from th’ empyreal sky: | |
| “O come away,” her longing spirit cries, | |
| “And share with me the raptures of the skies. | |
| Our bliss divine to mortals is unknown; | |
| Immortal life and glory are our own. | 20 |
| There too may the dear pledges of our love | |
| Arrive, and taste with us the joys above; | |
| Attune the harp to more than mortal lays, | |
| And join with us the tribute of their praise | |
| To him, who dy’d stern justice to atone, | 25 |
| And make eternal glory all our own. | |
| He in his death slew ours, and, as he rose, | |
| He crush’d the dire dominion of our foes; | |
| Vain were their hopes to put the God to flight, | |
| Chain us to hell, and bar the gates of light.” | 30 |
| |
| She spoke, and turn’d from mortal scenes her eyes, | |
| Which beam’d celestial radiance o’er the skies. | |
| |
| Then thou, dear man, no more with grief retire, | |
| Let grief no longer damp devotion’s fire, | |
| But rise sublime, to equal bliss aspire, | 35 |
| Thy sighs no more be wafted by the wind, | |
| No more complain, but be to heav’n resign’d. | |
| ’Twas thine t’ unfold the oracles divine, | |
| To sooth our woes the task was also thine; | |
| Now sorrow is incumbent on thy heart, | 40 |
| Permit the muse a cordial to impart; | |
| Who can to thee their tend’rest aid refuse? | |
| To dry thy tears how longs the heav’nly muse! | |
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