To call thee this, much more to muse and sigh
All other honeyed names. A slave I might—
A son, I must. And both of these am I.”
This exquisite piety is entitled “Love’s Prisoner”:
* * * * *
“But is He lonely? Bend not here
Adoring angels as on high?
Ah yes: but yet, when we appear,
A softer glory floods His eye.
’Tis earth’s frail child He longs to see;