No colored glass, within its hemisphere,
Breaks white light as with prisms.
I have dreamed dreams therein: of charity
Wide as the world, impartial as the sun;
That on such Sion, in fraternity,
Might all men meet as one.
Dreams! Yet one cross, one hope—we scarce can err—
May, must all wanderers to one fold recall:
The Apostles’ Creed, the bunch of precious myrrh,
Can purify us all.