O thou! whose spirit warms my song,
With energy divinely strong,
Erect his soul, confirm his breast,
And let him know the sweets of rest;
Till every human pain and care,
All that may be, and all that are,
But false imagin'd ills appear,
Beneath our hope, our grief, or fear.
And, if I right invoke thy aid,
By thee be all my woes allay'd;
With scorn instruct me to defy
Imposing fear, and lawless joy;
To struggle thro' this scene of strife,
The pains of death, the pangs of life,
With constant brow to meet my fate,
And meet still more, Euanthe's hate.
And when some swain her charms shall claim,
Who feels not half my generous flame,
Whose cares her angel-voice beguiles,
On whom she bends her heavenly smiles;
For whom she weeps, for whom she glows,
On whom her treasur'd soul bestows;
When perfect mutual joy they share,
Ah! joy enhanc'd by my despair!
Mix beings in each flaming kiss,
And blest, still rise to higher bliss:
Then, then, exert my utmost power,
And teach me being to endure;
Lest reason from the helm should start,
And lawless fury rule my heart;
Lest madness all my soul subdue,
To ask her Maker, What dost thou?
Yet, couldst thou in that dreadful hour,
On my rack'd soul all Lethe pour,
Or fan me with the gelid breeze,
That chains in ice th' indignant seas;
Or wrap my heart in tensold steel,
I still am man, and still must feel.