Of hope, and joy, and power,
Streams on my soul from your immortal eyes.
And if that splendour to my sober’d sight
Come tremulous, with more of pensive light—
Something, though beautiful, yet deeply fraught
With more that pierces through each fold of thought
Than I was wont to trace
On heaven’s unshadow’d face—
Be it e’en so!—be mine, though set apart
Unto a radiant ministry, yet still