The far-off splendour of thy track sublime.
II.
For, in thy precincts, on the further side,
Beyond the turret where the bells are rung,
Beyond the chapel where the rites are sung,
There is a garden fit for any bride.
O Love! by thee, by thee are sanctified
The joys thereof to keep our spirits young.
III.
By thee, dear Love! by thee, if all be well—