About the globe, in never-ending round,
Circles the Sun. Men talk of night and dark;
He sees them not; wherever he comes 't is day.
The densest jungle, if a ray but pierce
Its tortuous gloom, reflects an angel's spear.
The dusky nadir, far remote from light,
A very zenith glows to the approaching King.
So, in the glow of God's resplendent Life,
No sin can lift its venomous crest in air.
To Him, all pure with Soul's perfected light,
All things are pure; nor into thought divine
Can enter knowledge of the foul and false.
Before His face, the face of Truth's decree,
Melts evil, like the dew before the Sun.
No night is there, no lie, nor poisonous thought;
But lambent Love, laving the man ideal.
