The prayer, with low and wistful voice:
“According to thy word and choice,
Though sorrowful and heavy laden,
So be it done to thy Handmaiden”;
Then all the sacred bells rejoice.
At eve with roses in the west,
The daylight’s withering bequest,
Ring, prayerful bells, while blossom bright
The stars, the lilies of the night:
Of all the songs the years have sung us,