The First Pale Blossom Of The Unripened

The Well Taught Philosophic Mind To All Compassion Gives; Casts Round The World An Equal Eye, And Feels For All That Lives.

There Is A Land, Where The Roses Are Without Thorns, Where The Flowers Are Not Mixed With Brambles. In That Land, There Is Eternal Spring, And Light Without Any Cloud. The Tree Of Life Groweth In The Midst Thereof; Rivers Of Pleasures Are There, And Flowers That Never Fade. Myriads Of Happy Spirits Are There, And Surround The Throne Of God With A Perpetual Hymn. The Angels With Their Golden Harps Sing Praises Continually, And The Cherubim Fly On Wings Of Fire! This Country Is Heaven.

So Fades A Summer Cloud Away; So Sinks The Gale When Storms Are O'er; So Gently Shuts The Eye Of Day; So Dies A Wave Along The Shore.

Man Is The Nobler Growth Our Realms Supply, And Souls Are Ripened In Our Northern Sky.

If An Author Would Have Us Feel A Strong Degree Of Compassion, His Characters Must Not Be Too Perfect.