Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment hence!
- Horace Smith and James Smith,

Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment hence!
- Horace Smith and James Smith,

Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth
the law, happy is he.

Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth
the law, happy is he.

And like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.

And like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.

My thoughts by night are often filled
With visions false as fair:
For in the past alone, read more

My thoughts by night are often filled
With visions false as fair:
For in the past alone, I build
My castles in the air.

Our revels are now ended. These our actors
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are read more

Our revels are now ended. These our actors
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all of which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Is rounded with a sleep.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.

So little distant dangers seem:
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd thro' Hope's deluding glass;
read more

So little distant dangers seem:
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd thro' Hope's deluding glass;
As yon summits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear.

The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme!
The young men's vision, and the old men's dream.

The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme!
The young men's vision, and the old men's dream.

I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang
sweeter!
I wonder if ever read more

I wonder if ever a song was sung but the singer's heart sang
sweeter!
I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung but the thought surpassed the
meter!
I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought till the cold stone echoed
his ardent thought!
Or, if ever a painter with light and shade the dream of his
inmost heart portrayed!