A Night Thought

Lo! where the Moon along the sky

Sails with her happy destiny;

Oft is she hid from mortal eye

Or dimly seen,

But when the clouds asunder fly

How bright her mien!

Far different we--a froward race,

Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace

With cherished sullenness of pace

Their way pursue,

Ingrates who wear a smileless face

The whole year through.

If kindred humors e'er would make

My spirit droop for drooping's sake,

From Fancy following in thy wake,

Bright ship of heaven!

A counter impulse let me take

And be forgiven.