Design’d by Providence for Haydn’s good?”
To this I could but answer that “his love
Seem’d Providential too, a holy thing.”
They only frown’d, and said: “The Prince of Ill
Came oft robed like an angel of the light;—
Why not like love?—The only holy thing,
Such proven to be, was Christ. And what of Him
When moved by love?—of His great sacrifice!—
And did I really prize this Haydn so,
Would love prompt naught in me!”