Chapter XXXII

Lord, that I thee may find, O stretch to me thy Hand!
Close-clasped for ever, kind, O stretch to me thy hand!
O'er Earth it gathers dark, and ever deeper here
Where dim cross Footpaths wind, O stretch to me thy Hand!
The Malice of the World and deadly Hate I know;
Where the Danger grows defined, O stretch to me thy Hand!
The Pilgrim's Journey still is threatened by the Foe;
But to thwart the Ill designed, O stretch to me thy Hand!
O come, and let it press upon this burning Heart;
Though Tears my glad Eyes blind, O stretch to me thy Hand!
Fair Moon, up to thy Palace all shining, I would climb;
But lest I halt behind, O stretch to me thy hand!

The Priests