Diamonds are shadows of the sun;
They drink his rays and show a spark:
My soul some gleams of thy great shine hath won,
And round me slays the dark.
All knowledge is but broken shades—
In gulfs of dark a wandering horde:
Together rush the parted glory-grades—
And lo, thy garment, Lord!
My soul, the shadow, still is light,
Because the shadow falls from thee;
I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright,
And home flit shadowy.
Shine, shine; make me thy shadow still—
The brighter still the more thy shade;
My motion be thy lovely moveless will!
My darkness, light delayed!
(THE END.)