"A name whose glory waxeth bright, With still increasing fire; A name to stand while ages pass, And make a world admire: Oh, may there be some spirit near, My soul's high wish to bear:" But the angels stood with drooping wings, Nor moved to waft her prayer.
"Oh, God," she pray'd, "thou infinite, Oh, grant my darling power; The might of soul that sways a host As the fierce wind sways a shower: And may there be some spirit near My fervent wish to bear" — But the steadfast angels sadly stood, Nor moved to waft her prayer.
"Oh God, who art all Beautiful, Oh, make my darling fair; That he may still from life draw love, Life's essence sweet and rare. So every heart shall be a harp, Beneath his touch to sound." But the shuddering angels sadly stood, And droop'd their wings around.
"But if,"' she pray'd, "thou God of love, He may not grasp at fame, Oh, grant him strength to face serene A cold world's cruel blame. And if he shrink from earthly power, Nor aim to sway the time, Gird thou his soul to cope with sin — A conqueror sublime.