But whither thus precipitate her flight
Urges the general comforter? Behold
Where, stretch'd upon the bed of sore disease,
Worn out with pain, the sick man languid lies!
She comes, blest Hope! and lo! her kindly arm
Rears from the pillow his enfeebled head,
And lenient sooths his melancholy heart!
Now, pointing to fair Health, with roseate bloom,
Rekindling vigour in the mantling cheek:
Now, to the robe of white and crown of gold,
Reserv'd for Christ's true servants, in the realms
Of everlasting day! — Thrice faithful Hope,
Thou, like the heart, liv'st first, and diest last;
Nor, ev'n in death's extremest pangs, wilt leave
The fluttering soul — but, when earth's fears and joys
Sink into darkness all, thy beaming light
Unvelopes prospects new, and better far,
Prospects which make man, man: and cause the soul
In death to triumph, and defy the grave.