Pure
This timely scourge as fastened way,
did weigh it not, as thinking flay.
Though lightness' breech is not away
like waiting to dismiss obey.
Thy abstinence takes its noble curve,
and truth in thee, I cannot swerve,
still love, thee follow, nerve by nerve,
thy spirit 'round me, filling verve!
Sought wisdom, disregarding serve,
Thy pure, thy pure, my love thy pure -
is truth about us, not demur,
is hope to route us to observe.
Thee love, thee sanctity's concur
thee hope, thee love, thee pure . . . thee pure!
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