Burning into our bodily sense,
If we might look on that face most tender,
The brows where the scars are turned to splendor,
Might catch the light of his smile so sweet,
And view the marks on his hands and feet,
How loyal we should be!
It were not hard, we think, to serve him,
If we could only see!
It were not hard, he says, to see him,
If we would only serve;