To S. A. T.

As with thy Album in my hand, Upon this picture late I gazed, With tuneful harp held in its hand, And eyes of joy to Heaven upraised, As if it inspiration sought From Heaven's pure shrine of holy thought, Like those inspired bards, who sung Jehovah's praise with prophet tongue, I thought of thee, as, long ago, I heard thy voice so sweetly flow Through measures of most tender feeling, The soul of melody revealing; Breathing, in sweetest harmony, The noblest strains of poesy. Like seraph of celestial fire, Who tunes his voice and sacred lyre, And moves th' angelic hosts above To pour their notes of praise and love To Him who sits enthroned on high In undisputed majesty: So thy harmonious notes divine Cause men to bow before thy shrine; Their adoration bring to thee, Bright image of the Deity.