No mystery—but that of love divine,
Which lifts us on the Seraph’s flaming wing,
From earth’s aceldama, this field of blood,
Of inward anguish, and of outward ill,
From darkness, and from dust, to such a scene!
Love’s element! True joy’s illustrious house!
From earth’s sad contrast (now deplor’d) more fair!
What exquisite vicissitude of fate!
Blest absolution of our blackest hour!
Young.