Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by.   
I muse at how its being puts blissful back   
With yellowy moisture mild night’s blear-all black,   
Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.   
By that window what task what fingers ply,           
I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for lack   
Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or Jack   
There  God to aggrandise, God to glorify.—   
   
Come you indoors, come home; your fading fire   
Mend first and vital candle in close heart’s vault:    
You there are master, do your own desire;   
What hinders? Are you beam-blind, yet to a fault   
In a neighbour deft-handed? Are you that liar   
And, cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt?