Throned awhile he sat, and, seated,

Saw his Cornish round him gather;

"Teach us how to live, good Father!"

How to die he taught us rather:

Smiled upon the feast around him,

Rose, and wrapp'd his coat, and bound him

When beyond the awful surges,

Bathed in dawn on Syrian verges,

God! thy star, thy Cross emerges.

 And so sing we all to it—

Crux, in coelo lux superna,

Sis in carnis hac taberna

Mihi pedibus lucerna:

Quo vexillum dux cohortis

Sistet, super flumen Mortis,

Te, flammantibus in portis!

ALMA MATER

 Know you her secret none can utter? Hers of the Book, the tripled Crown? Still on the spire the pigeons flutter, Still by the gateway flits the gown; Still on the street, from corbel and gutter, Faces of stone look down. Faces of stone, and stonier faces— Some from library windows wan Forth on her gardens, her green spaces, Peer and turn to their books anon. Hence, my Muse, from the green oases Gather the tent, begone! Nay, should she by the pavement linger Under the rooms where once she played, Who from the feast would rise to fling her One poor sou for 

 Prev. P 56/70 next