69. Hope

We are not children of a guilty sire,
Since Noe stepp'd from out his wave-toss'd home,
And a stern baptism flush'd earth's faded bloom.
Not that the heavens then clear'd, or cherub's fire
From Eden's portal did at once retire;
But thoughts were stirr'd of Him who was to — come,
Whose rainbow hues so streak'd the o'ershadowing — gloom,
That faith could e'en that desolate scene admire.
The Lord has come and gone; and now we wait
The second substance of the deluge type,
When our slight ark shall cross a molten surge;
So, while the gross earth melts, for judgment ripe,
Ne'er with its haughty turrets to emerge,
We shall mount up to Eden's long-lost gate.

Valletta.
February 5, 1833.