Leaving the darkness and the woe immense,
Wherewith it seems no thread of light was woven,
Nor doth the track remain where once ’twas cloven.
And heaven and all the stable elements
That guard God’s purpose mock us, though the mind
Be spent in searching: for his old intents
We see were never for our joy designed:
They shine as doth the bright sun on the blind,
Or like his pensioned stars, that hymn above
His praise, but not toward us, that God is Love.