175
SONNET,
ON READING THE SERMONS OF THE REV. MR. BUCK. MINSTER, OF AMERICA.
Oh! sainted virtue! as upon thy page,
With binning heart, and eyes suffused, I bend,
Life seems fresh beauty and fresh hope to blend,
Kindled by thy deep thoughts—yes, age to age
Shall breathe thy inspiration—at that shrine,
Where holiest visions greeted thy young prayer,
Tis our's to meet thee—that high trust to share,
And gird our spirits for then race divine.
Still, still before us shall thine image shine,
In the unclouded glory of its power;
Pure, virtuous, stedfast—even in death's dark hour,
Calm to the last, amid thy frame's decline.
Oh! consecrated genius! thou shalt be
A star to guide to noblest victory!
With binning heart, and eyes suffused, I bend,
Life seems fresh beauty and fresh hope to blend,
Kindled by thy deep thoughts—yes, age to age
Shall breathe thy inspiration—at that shrine,
Where holiest visions greeted thy young prayer,
Tis our's to meet thee—that high trust to share,
And gird our spirits for then race divine.
Still, still before us shall thine image shine,
In the unclouded glory of its power;
Pure, virtuous, stedfast—even in death's dark hour,
Calm to the last, amid thy frame's decline.
Oh! consecrated genius! thou shalt be
A star to guide to noblest victory!
