When the hot sun's too urgent might
Hath shrunk the tender leaf,
Water comes sliding down the night,
And makes its sorrow brief.
When poet's heart is in eclipse,
A glance from childhood's eye,
A smile from passing maiden's lips,
Will clear a glowing sky.
Might not from God such influence come
A dying hope to lift?
Might he not send to poor heart some
My child lies moaning, lost in dreams,
Abandoned, sore dismayed;
- fancy's world with horror teems, Her soul is much afraid:
I lay my hand upon her breast,
Her moaning dies away;
- does not wake, but, lost in rest, Sleeps on into the day.
- when my heart with soft release Grows calm as summer-sea,
Shall I not hope the God of peace
Hath laid his hand on me?