VII

As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds regain

Their cheerfulness, and busily retrim

Their nests, or chant a gratulating hymn

To the blue ether and bespangled plain;

Even so, in many a re-constructed fane,

Have the survivors of this Storm renewed

Their holy rites with vocal gratitude:

And solemn ceremonials they ordain

To celebrate their great deliverance;

Most feelingly instructed‘ mid their fear —

That persecution, blind with rage extreme,

May not the less, through Heaven's mild countenance,

Even in her own despite, both feed and cheer;

For all things are less dreadful than they seem.