And the hue of her heart flushes warm on her cheeks.
6.
A moment—and mute as the startled gazelle,
All wild is her eye—the dark eye of her spell!
And breaks the frail ring o’er the dance beaten sod,
Like flowers dropping pale from their garlanded god.
7.
So dazzling the beauty of holiness bright!
The glory of goodness—the wonderful light!
So, Lord, would I shine from my converse above,