How girt and ready to ascend;
Moving but on a point below,
It all about does upwards bend,
Such did the manna’s sacred dew distil,
White and entire although congeal’d and chill;
Congeal’d on earth; but does dissolving run
Into the glories of the Almighty sun.
Andrew Marvell.
The starlight dews
All silently their tears of love instil,