Before the glory of your love
The beauty of the world is bowed
In adoration, and to prove
Your praises every Truth is proud:

Each silent witness testifies
Your wonder by its native worth
And dumbly its delight denies
That your wild music may have birth:

Only this madman cannot keep
Your peace, but flings his bursting heart
Forth to red battle,—while they weep
Your music who have held apart.