Could her demerits touch the longed for crown,
But rather sorrow, that would bring her down
Where no light comes, nor joy, nor Bridegroom’s face:
* * * * * * *
Then, in the chaos, lo, a plan revealed.
Lo, in the sand, the lilies of the field.
All thy blind servant’s darkness of untrust
Proven more wicked than her tongue can speak.
To her unfaith thou turn’dst the other cheek,
And, to her greed, gavest gold that cannot rust.