Oh, truest Love, because the truest life! Oh, blest existence, to exist with Love! Oh, Love, without which all things else must die The death that knows no waking unto life! Oh, Jealousy that saps the heart of Love,
And robs it of its tenderness divine; And Pride, that tramples with its iron hoof Upon the flower of love, whose fragrant soul Exhales itself in sweetness as it dies! A lofty spirit surfeited with Bliss! A Prince of Angels cancelling all love, All due allegiance to his rightful Lord; Doing dishonour to his high estate; Turning the truth and wisdom which were his For ages of supreme felicity, To thirst for power, and hatred of his God, Who raised him to such vast preëminence!
Woe, woe to the ransomed spirit, Once freed from the stain of sin, Whose pride increases Till all love ceases To nourish it from within! Its doom is the darkened regions Where the rebel angel legions Live their long night of sorrow; Where no expectant morrow, No mercy-tempered ray From the altar of to-day, Comes down through the gloom to borrow One drop from their cup of sorrow, Or lighten their cheerless way.
But blest be the gentle spirit Whose love is ever increased From its own pure soul, The illumined goal Where Love holds perpetual feast!
Ingrate Angel, he, To purchase Hell, and at so vast a price! 'Tis the old story of celestial strife-- Rebellion in the palace-halls of God-- False angels joining the insurgent ranks, Who suffered dire defeats, and fell at last From bliss supreme to darkness and despair. But they, the faithful dwellers in the spheres, Who kept their souls inviolate, to whom Heaven's love and truth were truly great rewards: For these the stars were sown throughout all space, As fit memorials of their faithfulness. The wretched lost were banished to the depths Beneath the lowest spheres. Earth barred the space Between them and the Faithful. Then the hills Rose bald and rugged o'er the wild abyss; The waters found their places; and the sun, The bright-haired warder of the golden morn, Parting the curtains of reposing night, Rung his first challenge to the dismal shades, That shrunk back, awed, into Cimmerean gloom; And the young moon glode through the startled void With quiet beauty and majestic mien.