“Less of bliss may none us bring,
this pearl who bear upon our breasts,
for ne'er a thought of sin know they
the crown who bear of spotless pearls
And though our corses cling in clay,
and ye for ruth cry ceaselessly,
we knowledge have full well of this,—
from one death cometh all our hope.
Us gladd'neth the Lamb; our care is cast;
He maketh mirth at every meal;
of each the bliss is bravest and best,
and no one's honour is yet the less.