CIV

Sad is it that a love as pure as thine,
Which to itself is so devoid of sin,
Should find no touch of charity within
The rigid souls that trade in things divine!
They mix their muddy water with God's wine,
And cry, 'Drink this! The holy crystalline
Is stained, we grant, and somewhat pale and thin;
But drink! what mortal taste can draw the line?'
O bright, sweet nature, who hast ever stood
Just as God dropped thee from His shaping hand,
Shall such defilement enter in thy blood?
Guiltless or guilty? Who shall take a stand
'Twixt God and thee, and cry to all the land,
'Lo, the great sin! and, lo! the little good?'