Far up the starry way!
“Thy will be done,”—with little tongue,
That lisping love implores;
“Thy will be done,”—the angelic throng—
Sing from seraphic shores!
“For ever,”—still those lips repeat,
Their closing evening prayer;
“For ever,”—floats in music sweet—
High ’midst the angels there!
Thine be the glory evermore,