And Life’s brightest promise be blighted by sin,—
What bliss but to feel the cool print of thy sandal
On fiery promptings and passions aglow;
To nestle, like birds, ’neath thy sky-color’d mantle,
And calm our hot hearts on thy bosom of snow!
What bliss thro’ the darkness, the heat, and the clamor,
To fly to thy feet, to thy virginal shrine,—
And there, in thy presence, releas’d from Sin’s glamor,