Trembling I wak'd with sweet excess of joy,
And on the wings of sleep, more swift than wind,
Away the fickle, fond delusions fly;
Yet leave their fairy-steps the trace behind:
Hear then, ye sainted myriads, from your spheres,
And gently beam your kindliest influence down;
Lift, lift my thoughts above life's groveling cares,
To joys sublime, and Virtue's glorious crown!
O guide my virgin-soul the high abode,
To reach, the heaven of heavens, where reigns th' eternal God!