Who shall ascend into His holy hill,
I heard; or who stand in His holy place?
He with clean hands, and pure of heart, who still
Hath not known vanity, deceit, finds grace!
And I was troubled at this high demand,
For sense imputed what was not in Mind:
Could I, so weak and errant, hope to stand
In that high tabernacle, God-enshrined?
So far from perfect, sense-beclouded, I?—
Grace infinite alone, in later age,
Could make me truly fit. But Love said, Why?
Can man, God's image, lose his heritage?
Not time nor the accuser's claims have power,
But unselfed love. Who loves the mortal less,
Who bears his cross, thus through each warring hour
Of sense finds healing in the seamless dress.
Who shall ascend into His holy hill,
I heard; or who stand in His holy place?
He who loves Truth, and works to know His will,
In righteousness shall see Love's glowing face.
