Guides through rocks my little bark?

Thou Creator! all o'erseeing,
In this scene preserv'st me dread,
Thou, without whose word decreeing
Not a hair falls from my head.

Thou in life hast doubly blest me,
All my soul to thee's revealed,
Thou amongst the great hast placed me,
Be midst them my guide and shield!






TO MY HEART.


Why, poor heart, so ceaseless languish?
Why with such distresses smart?
Nought alleviates thy anguish,
What afflicts thee so, poor heart?

Heart, I comprehend not wrongly,
Thou a captive art confest,
Near Eliza thou beat'st strongly
As thou'dst leap into her breast.