The pen, just fallen from his fingers.

Wrath changed to kindness on that pen;

Though dipped in gall, it flowed with honey;

One flash from out the cloud, and then

The skies with smile and jest were sunny.

Of hate he surely lacked the art,

Who made his enemy his lover:

O reverend head and Christian heart!

Where now their like the round world over?

He saw the goodness, not the taint,