Wave but this rod, and a viewless band,
Slaves to thy will, shall around thee stand.
And would not fear, at my coming, then
Hush every voice in the homes of men?
Would not bright eyes in my presence quail?
Young cheeks with a nameless thrill turn pale?
No gift be mine that aside would turn
The human love for whose founts I yearn!
Wouldst thou then read through the hearts of those
Upon whose faith thou hast sought repose?