The rising orb of day behold!

It gilds with flame St Michael's spire,

Whose panes, agleam with living fire,

Blaze like some sacrificial pyre.

It lights, as with celestial glow,

The slender crosslets ranged below,

Man's last, sad resting-place to show....

III

In yonder modest glebe-house near,

Unconscious of my presence here,