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No seeming sight, as left to right were space,
nor style to look upon, not of thy face.
No holding central, like my heart was waste,
and solely rental, as to live were place.
To need you, every way, and find your grace,
so close, that mimic's jaunting of some trace,
is never real, but images efface.
I long for you, to view thy resting brace,
more firming, not confine, but glories' praise,
as when of God know truth is not abase,
but faith within, and courage action's raise -
Uprooting with discernment, evil's graze!
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