He may not be brilliantly gifted, my lord,
Or he may be learned in everything,
But if ever he comes he will touch the chord
Whose melody waits for the hand of its King!
But he must be courteous towards the lowly,
To the weak and sorrowful, loving too;
He must be courageous, refined, holy,
By nature exalted, and firm, and true.
To such I might fearlessly give the keeping
Of love that would never out-grow its spring: