"Deep in the desert of Thy love uncrossed Wander like me a thousand wretches lost. Love to their anguish myriad guises lends, Anguish their souls in myriad pieces rends. Thy beauty is the medicine of their care, Union with Thee their hope that kills despair. Unless with loving hand Thou lead them on, Their souls will go the way their hearts have gone. Where Thou art throned above our human fate, Fraud and religion bear an equal rate; Milk of Thy grace the wise old man, world-soiled, Tastes and becomes again a new-born child."