Clutch after those, and these refuse?
Believe,—as thy beseeching eyes
Follow their lines, and sound the skies,—
There, where the fadeless glories shine,
An unseen angel twists the twine.
And be thou sure, what tint so e'er
The broken rays beneath may wear,
It needs them all, that, broad and white,
God's love may weave the perfect light!