When I look to thee I find not malice or grief,

Nor dullest streak writ across thy face.

No foul of night or cunning thief,

Can steal thy fruit, thy holy grace.

Oh shining Star, thou stand’st alone,

Amidst the sea of a thousand churning souls

Only the miser can value thy precious stone;

Thy beauty just beneath the surface of the sandy shoal.

Sin doth blot the lustful eye of Aphrodite,

Yet thou remains constant fair and bright.

Whilst passion dost blow the fiery meteorite

Thine temperance preserves thy sacred rite.

So long as the light in this line still shines,

With you I shall spend the rest of my time.