Sonnet: 'Tis sweet to think the spirits

’Tis sweet to think the spirits of the blest
May hover round the virtuous man’s repose;
And oft in visions animate his breast,
And scenes of bright beatitude disclose.
The ministers of Heaven, with pure control,
May bid his sorrow and emotion cease,
Inspire the pious fervour of his soul,
And whisper to his bosom hallow’d peace.
Ah, tender thought! that oft with sweet relief
May charm the bosom of a weeping friend,
Beguile with magic power the tear of grief,
And pensive pleasure with devotion blend;
While oft he fancies music, sweetly faint,
The airy lay of some departed saint.