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To keep the word that bade me do Thy will,

And said to me "Be chaste,"

And did ordain: "If thou wilt not obey,

To exile thou shalt go."

Yea, and 'tis come—the woe;

That doom foretold hath come to pass this day,

My Mighty Love!

My noble love!

Tried in the furnace blaze

Of dire affliction; thou with shackled feet

Shalt yet adorn thy form with joy complete,

Gird on thy song of praise.

The crown of beauty,—diadem divine,—

It seemeth good to Me

To give it unto thee,

That sanctified perfection may be thine,

My noble love!