So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore.

When one by one our ties are torn, and friend from friend is snatched forlorn; When man is left alone to mourn, oh! then how sweet it is to die!.

Child of mortality, whence comest thou? Why is thy countenance sad, and why are thine eyes red with weeping?

It is to hope, though hope were lost.

Man is the nobler growth our realms supply And souls are ripened in our northern sky.

Is there not A tongue in every star that talks with man, And wooes him to be wise? nor wooes in vain; This dead of midnight is the noon of thought, And wisdom mounts her zenith with the stars.