Brightest Truth, Purest Trust In

God Is The Perfect Poet.

And Let Them Pass, As They Will Too Soon, With The Bean-flowers' Boon, And The Blackbird's Tune, And May, And June!

'tis Only When They Spring To Heaven That Angels Reveal Themselves To You.

Such Ever Was Love's Way: To Rise, It Stoops.

All Service Is The Same With God.