MY best of blessings, when from thee,
I turn, my feet, away,
My heart dies down, as children's do,
From hearth and home who stray:
The heart, that fears no face of man,
Nor shrinks, from shape of ill,
All melted, like a weaned child's,
Is swayed, at thy sweet will.
Upon the stem and stormy sea,
When tempests foam and frown,
The gentle moon, serene and still,
In loveliness, looks down:
Silent and sweet, her tender eye
The heaving mass controls,
And the whole world of water sleeps,
Till not a ripple rolls.
My best of blessings, in my heart,
Subdued, to love and thee,
Thy gentle beauty sinks, as soft
As moonlight, in the sea:
Its waves and billows heave no more,
Its storms and tempests cease:
And all its troubled depths are lulled,
In placidness, and peace.