I

As fair ideas from the sky, Or images of things, Unto a spotless mirror fly, On unperceived wings, And lodging there affect the sense, As if at first they came from thence; While being there, they richly beautify The place they fill, and yet communicate Themselves, reflecting to the seer's eye; Just such is our estate. No praise can we return again, No glory in ourselves possess, But what derived from without we gain, From all the mysteries of blessedness.