CHORUS.

Blest be Love to whom we owe All that's fair and bright below.

His hand had pictured many a rose And sketched the rays that light the brook; But what were these or what were those To woman's blush, to woman's look? "Oh, if such magic power there be, "This, this," he cried, "is all my prayer, "To paint that living light I see "And fix the soul that sparkles there."

His prayer as soon as breathed was heard; His pallet touched by Love grew warm, And Painting saw her hues transferred From lifeless flowers to woman's form. Still as from tint to tint he stole, The fair design shone out the more, And there was now a life, a soul, Where only colors glowed before.

Then first carnations learned to speak And lilies into life were brought; While mantling on the maiden's cheek Young roses kindled into thought. Then hyacinths their darkest dyes Upon the locks of Beauty threw; And violets transformed to eyes Inshrined a soul within their blue.