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High delegate of Heaven's own rest!
If man's impure and anxious breast
Thy loveliness despise,
How thankful is the innocent earth!
How gladly pour their welcome forth
The unpolluted skies!
Earth's sweetest scent, Air's fairest light
Are thine by immemorial right;
Thine is the grateful boon
Of waters locked in calmest shine;
These jetty trees are only thine,
And thine this crescent moon!
What wouldst thou more? Benignant Power,
Art thou disquiet in thy bower
So brightly decked, so fair?
Alas! the voices which the best
Should thank thee for thy peace and rest,
How seldom they are there!
Not for thyself, for us thy brow
So oft with an uneasy glow
Is flushed, thy peaceful eyes
Are vexed with tresses all undecked
And gloom, reproach of the neglect
It almost justifies.
