God-written, on the wing of every dove!
Ask if a blindness darkens my fond eyes,
That I should doubt me whither I should turn;
Ask if my soul, in cold abeyance lies,
That I should fail at sight of her to burn.
That I should wander to another’s sway,
Would speak a blindnesss worse than that of sight,
Since here, though nothing I may ask of right,
Blessings most precious woo my heart to stay.
High my ambition, since at heaven it aims,