It waits for love,—why say not love like ours?
When souls touch souls, they touch the springs of life;
For them the veils of sense are drawn aside,
Are burn’d away in radiance divine,
The while their spirit’s contact starts afresh
The electric flash that scores new glory here,
And lights the lines of being back to God.
Then, with their whole existences renew’d,
Far up these lines, the souls that thus commune,
Discern anon that sacred home on high,