And the cross that he planted wherever
He lifted the lilies of gold.
He lists to the Angelus ringing,
He folds his white hands on his breast,
And far o’er the clouded forests
A star verges low in the West!
I.
“Star on the bosom of the West,
Chime on, O bell, chime on, O bell!
To-night with visions I am blest,