But to thwart the Ill designed, O stretch to me thy Hand!
O come, and let it press upon this burning Heart;
Though Tears my glad Eyes blind, O stretch to me thy Hand!
Fair Moon, up to thy Palace all shining, I would climb;
But lest I halt behind, O stretch to me thy hand!
The Priests
XXXIII.
Love called to Men from Heaven's bright Gate,
'Who look to God now, soon and late?'
''Tis we who look aloft to God,'