O holy Hope, what else have I
On earth beside this white-hot wait?
This fired desire, with sights set high,
No worldly lure can e’er abate.
In prayer the lips move fevered pleas,
“Lord, come!” We’ll meet you in the air;
I love you more than all of these,
Let angels line the heavenly stair.
Th’ eternal span gives time below
A worth beyond the final fire;
And man, who stumbles to and fro,
To life with God may dare aspire.
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