There on their pious toil their Master smiled,
And prospered them, unknown or scorned of men,
Till in the satyr’s haunt, and dragon’s den,
A garden bloomed, and savage hordes grew mild.
So, in the guilty heart, when heavenly grace
Enters, it ceaseth not till it uproot
All evil passions from each hidden cell;
Planting again an Eden in their place,
Which yields to men and angels pleasant fruit,
And God Himself delighteth there to dwell.