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Pure and unsullied as the morning ray,
He seeks the realms of everlasting day.
And, Oh! if that be true which poets sing,
The guardian hovers on the cherub's wing,
Perchance e'en now he looks exulting down,
And hears with holy joy his sire's renown.
He seeks the realms of everlasting day.
And, Oh! if that be true which poets sing,
The guardian hovers on the cherub's wing,
Perchance e'en now he looks exulting down,
And hears with holy joy his sire's renown.
Then hush'd, illustrious mourner, be thy grief!
Seek in thy glorious course thy best relief!
By patriot deeds exalt thy deathless name,
And add fresh blossoms to thy wreath of fame!
Seek in thy glorious course thy best relief!
By patriot deeds exalt thy deathless name,
And add fresh blossoms to thy wreath of fame!
