Ye quenchless stars! so eloquently bright

And thou, vast ocean! on whose awful face Time’s iron feet can print no ruin-trace.

The solitary monk who shook the world From pagan slumber, when the gospel trump Thundered its challenge from his dauntless lips In peals of truth.

The soul aspiring pants its source to mount, As streams meander level with their fount.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

What great Effects from slender Causes flow!

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.