Gleams of Beauty unfading so entranced their souls,
they heard at night in their dreams angels singing of
bliss and the music of other worlds.

More enchanted, more earnestly they searched in every place, and
cherished for their homeland
the dream of a beloved of matchless excellence, hero or saint or both.

Without let or pause they strove on in high, passionate hope; some
perplexities of life they unraveled
as they journeyed apace, and at last obtained the promised happiness.

Lovers of the Light are pledged to a long journey, its end Unseen:
the very roads are proud upon which they go:
the rhythm of their going is Certainty, and their rank slaves of the King.

Whoever disdains that rank, disdains his own good fortune, exchanging
hope for a regret everlasting:
he shall not attain, not ever, the further rim of all that is.

Only the lovers, passionate lovers of the Ideal, may behold that far
horizon,eternity itself impressed upon their faces, and their names
rehearsed in hymns of praise.

They desire life again only to be martyred again, hearts forever
surrendered to the Light, forever remembered in our hearts.

They raise now light-filled eyes, in their hands are translucent beakers
held aloft, at ease, filled to their brim from rivers of Paradise.