Than he who wrote that scripture of the sun

Writ as with fire and light on heaven's own crest,

Of all words heard on earth the noblest one

That ever spake for souls and left them blest:

Gladly we should rest ever, had we won

Freedom: we have lost, and very gladly rest.

O poet hero, lord

And father, we record

Deep in the burning tablets of the breast

Thankfully those divine

And living words of thine

For faith and comfort in our hearts imprest

With strokes engraven past hurt of years

And lines inured with fire of immemorial tears.

36.

But who being less than thou shall sing of thee

Words worthy of more than pity or less than scorn?

Who sing the golden garland woven of three,

Thy daughters, Graces mightier than the morn,

More godlike than the graven gods men see

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