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AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.
119
His ears are open to the softest cry,His grace descends to meet the lifted eye;He reads the language of a silent tear,And sighs are incense from a heart sincere.Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give;Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live:From each terrestrial bondage set me free;Still every wish that centres not in thee;Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease,And point my path to everlasting peace.
If the soft hand of winning Pleasure leadsBy living waters, and through flowery meads,When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene,And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,O teach me to elude each latent snare,And whisper to my sliding heart—Beware!With caution let me hear the syren's voice,And doubtful, with a trembling heart, rejoice.
