And hast thou not known, my son, the tearful face of Repentance?
Faith is yon time-scarred hero, walking in the shade of his laurels:
And Reason, the serious sage, who followeth the footsteps of Faith:
And we, all we, are but handmaids, ministers of minor bliss,
Who rejoice to be counted servants in the train of a Queen so glorious:
But for her name, son of man, it is strange to the language of heaven,
For those who have never fallen need not and may not learn it:
Ligeance we swear to our God, and ligeance well have we kept;
It is only the band of the redeemed who can tell thee the fulness of that name;
Yet will I comfort thee, my son, for the love wherewith thou hast loved me,