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,