Grace, like an angel, goes before.

The stone is roll'd away,

We find an open door.

O, wondrous chain! where aye entwine

Our human wills, a tender thread,

With the strong will divine: --

We run as we are led.

We, did I say? 'tis all Thine own;

Thou in the dark dost Mary guide:

Thine angel moves the stone;

Love feels Thee at her side.