Thou hast heard many voices hymning thee,
Who didst awake their purest, earliest strains;
Flowing like mingling rivulets o'er the plains
They water-till they reach the mighty sea
Where time is blended with eternity!
The current of thy years-which age has crown'd
With hoary honours, and ripe harvests round,
Say, may it drink some gentle dews from me
Of grateful song?-I was in childhood young
And artless, when to my dim vision thou
Wert as a saint,-and from thy gentle tongue
I oft have heard such truths, such thoughts, as wrung
Tears of delight from infancy-and now
Round thee affection hath with reverence clung.