Veiled the sad altar in its purple pall,
And church and people, sorrow-laden all.
Yet joyful echoes from that western land
Spoke ’mid the lapsing waves on Nice’s strand;
Stirred, with the broken sweetness of that praise,
The heart of one who, through long busy days
Of years unresting, had with patience toiled,
With love and zeal, to keep his flock unsoiled
Amid the strong new world’s tumultuous life.
With such persuasion his wise words were rife