Holy Love

The love of self seeks earthly treasure,
And close in secret chambers folds it;
But HOLY LOVE, no place, no measure,
In all the universe can hold it.

Go, tread the path of secret fountains, 
And thou shalt find it shining bright; 
Go, tread the forests and the mountains, 
And there it sheds its holy light. 

Go, seek the poor man's cottage lowly; 
Ascend the monarch's lofty tower; 
And, in the bosoms of the holy, 
'Tis everywhere their life and power. 

It marches forth with banners flying; 
No sword can slay, no prisons bind it; 
No fear, no grief, no pain, no dying, 
Can mar the happy souls that find it.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) LXXXIX.