132
POEMS.
The bard who sweetest sung of Heaven,
First lost his sight of earth;
And those are oft the brightest dreams,
Which sorrow's night gives birth.
First lost his sight of earth;
And those are oft the brightest dreams,
Which sorrow's night gives birth.
All is not dark, though sight be dim—
This thought brings sweet repose;
Heaven's light may shine within the soul,
Though God its windows close.
This thought brings sweet repose;
Heaven's light may shine within the soul,
Though God its windows close.
