What though an angel dipped his pen
In living pools of flame and flood,
Yet would he fail to teach to men
The love of God. What though in utterance sublime,
'Twere written on the orbs above,
This thought above the world would shine
That God is love. Source of earth's purest, holiest bliss,
Sun of that brighter world above;
Yet can we teach no more than this,
That God is love. Oh Love divine! Thyself descend,
As with the pinions of a dove;
And teach the world to comprehend
Thy wondrous love.