A Joy If Heaven Is Perpetual Bright!

My soul is not undeterred to find myrrh, frankincense or precious, gold: a swaddling fever to run out the cold, truth; dare not I, not; agonise-mankind. Loves inflicted weariness so, undefined. The exiled advocate, who leads his fold, oughtn't a son to join a king that shined. With a princely, unabated, breath of old: Fondly do the stars not shiver out-time? Doesn't dissembling winter's passage, refine? Glories brimful, enlivening green and bold. I err, to listen, to my soul until I'm-doled- the sunbeams countless cuts-of-endless-night more my joy if heaven is perpetual bright.