What is it?
Twas in heaven pronounc'd -- it was muttered in hell
And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell ;
On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest,
And the depths of the ocean its presence confess'd ;
'Twill be found in the sphere, when driven asunder,
Be seen in the lightning and heard in the thunder ;
'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,
It assists him in birth and attends him in death,
Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health,
Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth ;
In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost with his prodigal heir ;
It begins ev'ry hope, ev'ry wish it must bound,
And, tho' unaspiring, with monarchs is crown'd ;
"Without it the soldier and seaman may roam,
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home;
In the whisper of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e'en in the whirlwind its passion be drown'd ;
'Twill not soften the heart, but, tho' deaf be the ear,
It will make it acutely and instantly hear ;
But in tho shade let it rest, Like a delicate flower,
Oh ! breathe on it softly--it dies in an hour.
(From The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, Thursday 4 June 1829)
Twas in heaven pronounc'd -- it was muttered in hell
And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell ;
On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest,
And the depths of the ocean its presence confess'd ;
'Twill be found in the sphere, when driven asunder,
Be seen in the lightning and heard in the thunder ;
'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,
It assists him in birth and attends him in death,
Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health,
Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth ;
In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost with his prodigal heir ;
It begins ev'ry hope, ev'ry wish it must bound,
And, tho' unaspiring, with monarchs is crown'd ;
"Without it the soldier and seaman may roam,
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home;
In the whisper of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e'en in the whirlwind its passion be drown'd ;
'Twill not soften the heart, but, tho' deaf be the ear,
It will make it acutely and instantly hear ;
But in tho shade let it rest, Like a delicate flower,
Oh ! breathe on it softly--it dies in an hour.
(From The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, Thursday 4 June 1829)
