Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; br And oft, in childhood's years, br I've read them o'er and o'er again, br With floods of silent tears. br The language of my inmost heart, br I traced in every line; br My sins, my sorrows, hopes, and fears, br Were there -- and only mine. br br All for myself the sigh would swell, br The tear of anguish start; br I little knew what wilder woe br Had filled the Poet's heart. br br I did not know the nights of gloom, br The days of misery; br The long, long years of dark despair, br That crushed and tortured thee. br br But, they are gone; from earth at length br Thy gentle soul is pass'd, br And in the bosom of its God br Has found its home at last. br br It must be so, if God is love, br And answers fervent prayer; br Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, br And I may meet thee there. br br Is he the source of every good, br The spring of purity? br Then in thine hours of deepest woe, br Thy God was still with thee.