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.