1 How pure in heart and sound in head,
With what divine affections bold,
Should be the man whose thought would hold
An hour's communion with the dead.

2 In vain shalt thou, or any, call
The spirits from their golden day,
Except like them, thou too canst say
My spirit is at peace with all.

3 They haunt the silence of the breast,
Imagination calm and fair,
The memory like a cloudless air,
The conscience as a sea at rest:

4 But when the heart is full of din,
And doubt beside the portal waits,
They can but listen at the gates,
And hear the household jar within.