Love is an angel's deathless wing,
A golden harp with an iron string.

In every heart, some deep desire
Burns ever on, a quenchless fire.

The sturdy arm is every hour
Made stronger by its use of power,

And souls grow finer as they plod
Along the stern highroads of God.

The direst ills upon us wait
To usher through some lofty gate.

That hope had never dared to try
Amid the hills of victory.

Like triple steel, love girds the will,
But keeps the spirit tender still.

The sweetest song has no refrain
More subtle than the minor strain.

Oh, hear the whirr of the deathless wing,
The golden harp with the iron string.