The more the merrier, I profess.
In company our love grows bright,
In honour more and never less.
"Lessening of bliss no comer brings
To us who bear this pearl at breast;
Nor show they flaws nor tarnishings
Who wear such pure pearls like a crest.
Though round our corpses the clay clings,
And though ye mourn us without rest,
Knowledge have we of goodly things.
Through the first death our hope we test;
Grief goes; at each mass we are blest
By the Lamb Who gives us happiness;
The bliss of each is bright and best,
And no one's honour is the less."
"That thou my tale the less may doubt,
In the Revelation 'tis told, and more:
'I saw,' says John, 'a goodly rout
The hill of Zion covering o'er,
The Lamb, with maidens round about,
An hundred thousand and forty and four,
And each brow, fairly written out,
The Lamb's name and His Father's bore.
Then a sound from heaven I heard outpour,
As streams, full laden, foam and press,
Or as thunders among dark crags roar,
The tumult was, and nothing less."
"'Nathless, though high that shout might ring,
And loud the voices sounding near,
A strain full new I heard them sing,
And sweet and strange it was to hear.
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