From the crown’d beauty of its festal year.
Did He reject thee then,
While the sharp scorn of men
On thy once bright and stately head was cast?
No! from the Saviour’s mien,
A solemn light serene
Bore to thy soul the peace of God at last.
For thee, their smiles no more
Familiar faces wore;
Voices, once kind, had learn’d the stranger’s tone: