The virgins of the temple vast where Noon to Ev'ning nods,
To crown as queen of all the rest whose bosom should display
The signet of a mission blest, the cipher of the gods.
The royal Lily's sceptred cup besought an airy lip,
The Rose's stooping coyness told the bee was at her heart,
While all the other sisters round, with many a dainty dip,
Sought jewels hidden in the grass, and waved its spears apart.
"We seek a queen," the Lily said, "and she shall wear the crown
Who to the Mission of the Blest the fairest right shall prove;
For unto her, whoe'er she be, has come in sunlight down