III.

Oh, truest Love, because the truest life! Oh, blest existence, to exist with Love! Oh, Love, without which all things else must die The death that knows no waking unto life! Oh, Jealousy that saps the heart of Love,

And robs it of its tenderness divine; And Pride, that tramples with its iron hoof Upon the flower of love, whose fragrant soul Exhales itself in sweetness as it dies! A lofty spirit surfeited with Bliss! A Prince of Angels cancelling all love, All due allegiance to his rightful Lord; Doing dishonour to his high estate; Turning the truth and wisdom which were his For ages of supreme felicity, To thirst for power, and hatred of his God, Who raised him to such vast preëminence!

Woe, woe to the ransomed spirit, Once freed from the stain of sin, Whose pride increases Till all love ceases To nourish it from within! Its doom is the darkened regions Where the rebel angel legions Live their long night of sorrow; Where no expectant morrow, No mercy-tempered ray From the altar of to-day, Comes down through the gloom to borrow One drop from their cup of sorrow, Or lighten their cheerless way.

But blest be the gentle spirit Whose love is ever increased From its own pure soul, The illumined goal Where Love holds perpetual feast!