To Love replied the Priests elate.
Love cried 'How can ye look on high,
Who thus your Forms and Words inflate?
Ye cannot see where pure Light dwells,
So full your Eyes of Greed and Hate.
Your dark Deeds dim the Noontide's Ray;
Ye shame the Sun while thus ye prate.
The Grace that sits enthroned on high,
Can ne'er its Claim of Faith abate.
Nor can the Just One justly give