O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay 
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence 
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) 
The faint pang stealest unperceived away; 
On thee I rest my only hope at last, 
And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear 
That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, 
I may look back on every sorrow past, 
And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile: 
As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, 
Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower 
Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:-- 
   Yet ah! how much must this poor heart endure, 
   Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!