Though we stand dumb with awe, or doubting turn
To probe the wound above that heart where burn
Great flames of love. The saints with rapture fling
Their crowns before the throne, and angels wing
Their anthems through the air. Come, man, and learn
Where crowns belong; thy God-like soul should yearn
For them thick-set with every holy thing—
Good deeds, prayers, penances, all shining bright
With fire of charity. Rejoice again,
O stars! O angels, saints, and man! a Light