Truth borrows not the glare of gems or gold, 540
Her name, a charm that needs but to be told!
And with her,—inmates of the humble cell,
Where, linked in love, the Christian graces dwell;—
That best and loveliest, whose welcome feet
The mountain tops in rays of gladness greet, 545
As o’er the earth her noiseless step is stayed,
Healing each bitter wound that sin has made,
Comes;—like the rainbow o’er the stormy cloud!
Or pardon to the wretch in fetters bowed;