Lo! God lets drop blue doves which ground the mind

Like clover; then, with drawing to the skies,

His pleasure is to watch the flocks arise.

Here, there, they mount; they show no cloud, no wind,

Can hinder homing; and the angels find

No transport, like the sight, for, to their eyes,

'Tis more souls for the joy, which glorifies

The Father, traced to love by pigeon-kind.

Oh, to his love, how great our spirit's worth!

Each is as all. In heaven, no heart still heaves.

The sun sinks with its last of lingering eves,

And, then, if dearest doves of azure birth,

Wife, parent, child, be missed, off mercy leaves

With stars for eyes, to search the darks of earth.