"O honoured guest in love’s high feast, O bird of the angel sphere, ’Tis cause to weep if thou wilt keep thy habitation here. A voice at morn to thee is borne—God whispers to the soul, ‘If on the way the dust thou’llt lay, thou soon wilt gain the goal, That road be thine toward the shrine; and lo! in bush and briar The many slain by love and pain in flower of young desire, Who on the track fell wounded back and saw not ere the end A ray of bliss, a touch, a kiss, a token of the Friend."