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.