VI.

Know'st thou the form on tender ground? It gives itself its glow, its light; And though each moment changing found. Is ever whole and ever bright. In narrow compass 'tis confined, Within the smallest frame it lies; Yet all things great that move thy mind, That form alone to thee supplies.

And canst thou, too, the crystal name? No gem can equal it in worth; It gleams, yet kindles near to flame, It sucks in even all the earth. Within its bright and wondrous ring Is pictured forth the glow of heaven, And yet it mirrors back each thing Far fairer than to it 'twas given.