The gates of morning opened wide
On sunny dome and steeple;
Noon gleamed upon the mountain-side
Thronged with a happy people;
And twilight’s drowsy, half closed eyes
Beheld that virgin splendour
Whose orbs were as her darkening skies,
And as her spirit, tender.
Girt with that strength, first-born of right,
Held fast by deeds of honour,