And bid thee turn thy drooping eye above.
This our pure mission—babes of memory!
Give us thy blessing ere these lives depart;
These shadowy forms, all consecrate to thee—
That faintly breathe the incense of the heart.
We heed no danger in a path like this:
A Faith that with the Good was ne’er at war;
We know Earth’s sorrows pilot Heaven’s bliss—
Keep, then, thy gaze upon the cloud and star.