To light your steps I ask
A purer and a holier flame.
No bloated growth I supplicate for you,
No pining multitude, no pampered few;
’Tis not alone to coffer gold,
Nor spreading borders to behold;
’Tis not fast-swelling crowds to win,
The refuse-ranks of want and sin—
This be the kind decree:
Be ye by goodness crowned,