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And sheds its glory o'er the bending skies,
With radiance caught from Heaven, but quick receding dies.
The eye that loves to view its dazzling rays,
And rove with rapture o'er its melting grades,
And glad prolong its unabating gaze,
Yet strives in vain to mark the varying shades,
Where one soft tint begins, and where a softer fades.
So shines the path of virtue, bright and fair,
With gentle traces, and soft blending lines,
Her train of duties scarcely shewing where,
One woos the soul, or one her charge resigns,
'Till in a stream of light, the finish'd glory shines.
THOUGHTS ON CHILDHOOD.
STILL roves the mind among the varied scenes
Of former days; and pausing as she treads
Their chequer'd paths, she seems to hear a sound
