From thy dark shades of superstitious lore,
Thou com’st arrayed in purest vestal white,
That he, the man of God, might on thee pour
Jordan’s still wave, to give thy blindness sight;
And to that heart, where hath been deeply stealing,
The fading bloom of earth’s bright flowery way,
A brighter—far enduring bliss revealing,
In the pure path of Truth’s eternal ray.
Bound in the rapture that thy beauty lendeth,
Thy pale-face lover at thy lonely side,