Thrilled to her heart a sad yet sweet reply.
Then through the darkness rose a voice in prayer,
“My Father! I have sinned ’gainst Thine and Thee.
The idol, whom I deemed so grandly fair
That its proud presence hid thy heaven from me,
Shorn of his glory, shrunk to common clay,
Behold for him and for my heart I pray.
“Take Thou the lute—the shattered lute of love—
And teach my faltering hand to tune it right
To some dear, holy hymn—which, like a dove,