Hark, this fly upon the glass,
Whose life, a fortnight, may endure,
A pure and holy image art,
A mark, marked by imprimatur,
A glory, reflecting by the Light,
Whose life, no night, could long endure,
Whose pure and holy image imparts,
Peace, by order of loves, secured;
Your silent wings send forth resonant winds,
They whisper gently past the ear,
Perceptible only to that soul,
Who attends amidst the noise to hear;
The voice of praise they, pregnant, bear,
And birth in hearts with hollow cavity,
Whose echoes sound the blows of love:
A fugue of tones timbred by Divinity.
No comments:
Post a Comment