Who raised thee up, and bound
Thy silent spirit’s wound?—
He, from all guilt the stainless, He alone!
But which, O erring child,
From home so long beguiled!—
Which of thine offerings won those words of heaven,
That o’er the bruisèd reed,
Condemn’d of earth to bleed,
In music pass’d, “Thy sins are all forgiven?”
Was it that perfume, fraught