Purity of heart;
Not the patched mantle and the lust perverse
Of those vile earth-bound men who steal his name.
He in all dregs discerns the essence pure:
In hardship ease, in tribulation joy.
The phantom sentries, who with batons drawn
Guard Beauty’s palace-gate and curtained bower,
Give way before him, unafraid he passes,
And showing the King’s arrow, enters in.