The tree of holiness, of heavenly seed,
A native of the skies, though stunted made,
And dwarfed by time’s cold, damp, ungenial soil,
And chilling winds, yet yielding fruit so pure,
So nourishing and sweet, as on his way
Refreshed the pilgrim; and begot desire
Unquenchable, to climb the arduous path
To where her sister plants, in their own clime,
Around the fount and by the stream of life,
Blooming beneath the sun that never sets,