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THE DOVE. |
105 |
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He pass'd away, but yet the boon he claimed
In that sad hour was given: To those who knew him here, that cherished name
Is linked with thoughts of Heaven.
IMS.
THE DOVE. Dove, with the drooping wing,
I gaze on thy plumage softly fair, And think, as, thy spreading pinions fling
A radiance on the air,
Of the messenger they sent
From the lonely ark on the waters wide, When naught but the sea and firmament
Were spreading on every side.
I think of the welcome bough
Brought by a beautiful one like thee,
Reviving hope on the heart and brow Of the world's one family.
Beautiful, beautiful Dove!
I think of that messenger sent from the sky, The Spirit of God to the Son of his love,
Descending in fashion like thee.
O, may that Spirit divine
In his meekness and gentleness rest upon me! May his glowing fervour and love be mine,
With his sinless purity!
1849. |
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