Constitute our bliss below!

Thee to see, and Thee to love,

Constitute our bliss above.

Toplady.

True happiness is not the growth of earth,

The toil is fruitless if you seek it here;

’Tis an exotic of celestial birth,

And never blooms but in celestial air.

Sweet plant of Paradise! thy seeds are sown

In here and there a mind of heavenly mould;