Of their long-clasping love, have wander’d not,
Holiest! from thee—oh! take them to thyself,
After the fiery trial—take them home
To dwell, in that imperishable bond
Before thee link’d, for ever. Hear!—thro’ Him
Who meekly drank the cup of agony,
Who pass’d through death to victory, hear and save!
Pity us, Father! we are girt with snares:
Father in Heaven! we have no help but thee.
[They rise.