Gave unto man that loftiest boon of love,
To bless the spirit till his form is dust,
Then soar with it above!
’Tis no delusive spell,
Binding the fond heart in its shadowy hall;
But ’neath its power the purer feelings swell,
Till man forgets his thraldom and his fall,
And bliss, that slumbers in the spirit’s cell,
Wakes at its magic call.
Where’er its light has been,