Led by some loving guide who, in sweet guise
Of eloquent speech, makes blinded vision see
The very lines that make tall towers fair,
The peaceful saints that guard cathedral door—
In death still keeping watch the people o’er—
Lifting tired souls to holy heights of prayer.
Even frail nest familiar form doth wear
Built far above upon the shoulders broad
Of sculptured friar, bearing light the load
His brother birds give, trustful, in his care.