Let them hymn and let them praise thee: let them cry and supplicate:
Where is he to Earth descended, Star from out thy Glory's Sheen?
He his Head with thy soft Roses wreathed, and struck the charmèd String,
Till drunk with Love he passed sweet playing to the Light no cloud can screen.
He beclad in Garments waving here on broken Pillar leaned,
Pouring Songs by which upwafted he hath left this lower Scene.
Hath he now flown to Thy Bosom? Tell me, Love, who here below
Didst his Soul so sweetly cherish, where still cherished hath he been?—
Where the Peoples sink their Banners, where Pride lays her Signs aside,
All their Caste Distinctions blending, where eternal Peace is Queen.