James Montgomery

The violets were past their prime,
Yet their departing breath
Was sweeter, in the blast of death,
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The violets were past their prime,
Yet their departing breath
Was sweeter, in the blast of death,
Than all the lavish fragrance of the time.

The Dove,
On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.

The Dove,
On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.

The tall Oak, towering to the skies,
The fury of the wind defies,
From age to age, read more

The tall Oak, towering to the skies,
The fury of the wind defies,
From age to age, in virtue strong.
Inured to stand, and suffer wrong.

The nursery of brooding Pelicans,
The dormitory of their dead, had vanish'd,
And all the minor spots read more

The nursery of brooding Pelicans,
The dormitory of their dead, had vanish'd,
And all the minor spots of rock and verdue,
The abodes of happy millions, were no more.

Joys too exquisite to last,
And yet more exquisite when past.

Joys too exquisite to last,
And yet more exquisite when past.