⁠The hovering vision back, and breathe
New glories o'er the blighted spring,
⁠And call a lovelier Life from Death.
And whisper, with a voice divine,
Of real worlds, as bright as thine.

I trust not to thy phantom bliss,
⁠Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour,
With never-failing thankfulness,
⁠I welcome thee, Benignant Power;
Sure solacer of human cares,
And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!