Skyward and seaward, whilst thy white palms fling
Their spells of healing over land and sea,
One shout of homage makes the welkin ring,
“Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!”
I see thee throned aloft; thy fair hands hold
Myrtles for joy, and euphrasy and rue:
Laurels and roses round thy white brows rolled,
And in thine eyes the royal heaven’s hue:
But in thy lips’ clear colour, ruddy bright,
The heart’s blood shines of many a hapless wight.