This was thine essence, Holy Love!
For love, below, unfailing comer
To light and shade our life’s young summer;
The love that stirs each earthly bosom,
When life’s first blushing roses blossom;
That joyful, gleeful, blissful sighing,
Dying for love, yet never dying:
Oh, that sweet speech of eye to eye,
Is love, but not like love on high.
’Tis all the same in essence fair,