I know a song, which when the wild winds blow to bend the monarchs of the forest low.

If to the lay my warbling voice incline,
Walking its various tones with skill divine,
Hush'd are the gales, the spirit of the storm
Calms his bleak breath, and smooths his furrow'd form,
The day looks up, the dripping hills serene
Through the faint clouds exalt their sparkling green.

I know a song, to mend the heart design'd,
Quenching the fiery passions of mankind...