“O lady raise thine eye,

The Giver of this great Festival,

He dwelleth in yon blue sky.

“Thy kinsman Prince hath welcomed thee,

But God hath His world arrayed

Not more for thee than yon beggar old

Who sleeps ‘neath the ilex shade.

“His sun doth shine on the peasant’s fields,

His rain on his vineyard pour,

His flowers bloom by the worn wayside