Sage, yet unlearn'd! 'tis now thy hour to know
That the dear privilege to feel — to sigh —
To bid the tear from sacred pity flow,
Is not alone for man, or earth-form'd eye.
Where the pre-eminence that Angels boast,
If coldly conscious, in eternal rest
They form a bright, insensate, vap'ry host
By Heav'n's most precious gift to FEEL unblest?
The keenest feelings of the human mind
Exist more keenly in the angelic frame,
More elevated, poignant, and refin'd —
As earth's more sordid than ethereal flame.