With saintly patience. "For Thou wouldst teach me, Lord,
That Thou art just as near me ministering
At home as in these consecrated aisles;
And 'tis true worship, pouring of the wine
For him I love, or holding 'twixt my hands
The little throbbing head; since where my duty
Calls is the altar where I serve Thee best."
When under the Campagna's purple rim
The sun had sunken so long that all was gray,
Softly across the dusky sacristy