No Oath, no cause, nor promise do I need;
For promises, with duty, must be kept.
This violet, a promise could impede;
For I, by every faculty, am swept
To tend, and make to prosper, every bloom.
I long have tried to stay my hand; but could
Not ever stay my soul; nor–and, assuming
Such could keep me whole–remand, for good
Or ill, that Holy Thread I share with God.
His will–all beauty, and all bounty, came
From His divine, all knowing light–abroad
To His creations fly; and in His Name,
Created He those beings He deemed as great,
Entrusted, in His image, to create.