LXI.

Oft have I dreamed of Thee! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: And now I view thee--'tis, alas, with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. When I recount thy worshippers of yore I tremble, and can only bend the knee; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee![80]