Sad dove, that sitt'st with folding wings apart, Brooding o'er miseries in mercy given, To teach thy soul, and lead it back to heaven. A universal temple, where the soul May offer up its sacrifice divine, Of prayer, free, gushing from the heart without control. It tells of victory already won. The strange commotion in that armed mass. For the waters overwhelm them now.
Wild shrieks burst on the affrighted ear, And now the mad waves triumph o'er the sound.
Chariot, and horse, and rider, each alike Engulfed in one vast grave. Let earth, and sea, and air, repeat again The loud hosannahs of our joyful strain. Whose will has triumphed o'er man's sinful boasts. Ages have passed, have circling rolled away, Since fond lips breathed alous that joyful prayer, Yet fancy sweeps across the busy brain, Recalling shapes and voices mingling there. Weak and powerless, yet unto thee is given The task to prune the budding branch, and bid it bloom for heaven.