SONG
.
Tune
,
THE
HEAVY
HOURS
.
THE
balmy
comforts
that
are
fled
To
me
no
more
return
,
Though
Nature's
sweets
around
are
shed
,
Amid
those
sweets
I
mourn
.
With
organs
fram'd
to
taste
delight
,
My
soul
its
functions
tries
,
I
feel
,
I
see
—
but
from
my
sight
The
transient
landscape
flies
.
The
glimmering
beams
of
opening
day
,
Shot
through
a
watery
sky
,
Delusive
glowing
tints
display
,
But
soon
o'erwhelm'd
they
die
.
'Twas
thus
my
youth
in
brightness
dawn'd
,
My
passions
caught
the
glow
,
Some
ray
of
bliss
each
cloud
adorn'd
Which
teem'd
with
future
woe
.
Torn
from
each
joy
that
soothes
the
heart
,
All
other
pleasures
fly
,
My
thoughts
pursue
the
toils
of
art
,
My
feelings
music
try
.
Then
,
O
,
my
soul
!
thy
pow'rs
divine
Strengthen'd
in
virtue
rear
;
Pour
from
thy
breast
,
in
songs
sublime
,
Thy
grief
—
and
learn
to
bear
.