XXXI

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XXXI

Angelic Guidance

Are these the tracks of some unearthly Friend,

His foot-prints, and his vesture-skirts of light,

Who, as I talk with men, conforms aright

Their sympathetic words, or deeds that blend

With my hid thought;⁠—or stoops him to attend

My doubtful-pleading grief;⁠—or blunts the might

Of ill I see not;⁠—or in dreams of night

Figures the scope, in which what is will end?

Were I Christ’s own, then fitly might I call

That vision real; for to the thoughtful mind

That walks with Him, He half unveils His face;

But, when on earth-stain’d souls such tokens fall,

These dare not claim as theirs what there they find,

Yet, not all hopeless, eye His boundless grace.