The power unjust to meet, defiant still,
Is ours; and ours to subjugate the base
In our own hearts to God's triumphant will.
We, playmates once amid the flowers and rills,
Are now two hunters chasing hart and hind,
Two shepherds guarding flocks on holy hills,
Two eaglets launched along a single wind.
What next? Two souls—a husband and a wife—
Bearing one cross o'er heights the Saviour trod;—
What last? Two spirits in the life of life