Oh! none are so absorb'd, as not to feel Sweet thoughts like music coming o'er the mind: When prayer, the purest incense of a soul, Hath risen to the throne of heaven, the heart Is mellow'd, and the shadows that becloud Our state of darken'd being, glide away.
Robert Montgomery (1829). “A universal prayer ; Death ; A vision of heaven ; and A vision of hell”, p.144
