Whose rays have travell'd journeys to our sight,
Unmeasur'd by our leagues, they come so far?
Yet sure at last to dwell in heav'n's own light,—
Our bodies rais'd from dust by Christ, our friend,
In his own likeness,—ages without end!
84. CHURCHES OF PIEDMONT, 1851. [(notes)]
Long since it was th' unrivall'd poet's prayer,
That God, who governs all things here below,