Hunter of souls! the loving chase so nigh
Those spirits twain had never come before.
They saw the sacred flame within thine eye;
To them the maple’s depths quick glory wore,
As though God’s hand had lit
His altar-fire in it,
And made a fane, of virgin verdure pleached,
Wherefrom thou might’st in numbers musical
Expound the age-sweet words thy Francis preached
To thee and thine, of God’s benignant thrall