Sweet Spirit!

Sweet spirit! while life has an impulse, thou'lt be
In sorrow and sadness an angel to me;
Be mine as I'm thine—let's be mutually blest
As the love-warbling songsters that watch their green rest.

Come hither! to sink on my bosom—for thou,
Thou only shalt welcome the poet's first vow;
His truth shall be met by thy truth—thou alone
Can'st judge of its purity, sweet! by thine own.

My name and my glory are waiting on thee,
My heart melts in thine—my saint wilt thou be,
My hope and my heaven, my being, my bliss?
Joy-giver—what joy can'st thou give more than this?

My heart is thy temple, and, living or dead,
Thy light on its altars will ever be shed;
And death, when it flings the poor ruin to clay,
Shall rescue thy name from the wrecks of decay.