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"If, such as now he is, he might remain!
Ah! what avails Imagination high
Or Question deep? what profits all that Earth,
Or Heaven's blue Vault, is suffered to put forth
Of impulse or allurement, for the Soul
To quit the beaten track of life, and soar
Far as she finds a yielding element
In past or future; far as she can go
Through time or space; if neither in the one
Nor in the other region, nor in aught
That Fancy, dreaming o'er the map of things,
Hath placed beyond these penetrable bounds,
Words of assurance can be heard; if no where
A habitation, for consummate good,
Or for progressive virtue, by the search
Can be attained, a better sanctuary
From doubt and sorrow, than the senseless grave?"
"Is this," the grey-haired Wanderer mildly said,
"The voice, which we so lately overheard,
To that same Child, addressing tenderly
The Consolations of a hopeful mind?
'His body is at rest, his soul in heaven.'
