THE CONSTANT FRIENDS. 57 



THE CONSTANT FRIENDS. 



O SWEET soul d flowers, with robes so bright 



Fair guests of Eden birth, 

 In changeful characters of light, 

 What lines of love divine ye write 



Upon this troubled earth ! 



Man sinn d in Paradise, and fell 



But when the storm arose 

 When thorns and brambles sow d his path, 

 And gentlest natures turn d to wrath, 



Ye leagued not with his foes. 



Ye sinn d not, though to him ye clung, 



When, at the guarded door, 

 The penal sword its terrors flung, 

 And warn d him, with its flaming tongue, 



To enter there no more. 



