Beneath whose tread immortal flowers spring,
Holding within their snowy hearts no sting,
And breathing spices for love’s incense meet.
The lark, swift rising thy approach to greet,
The fulness of his heavenly song to pour
No higher than thy breast divine need soar,
There hiding life and song in joy complete!
Though sheltering trees o’ershadow not my way
To ward the sultry glow of noonday sun,
Yet 'neath thy cross the coolest shade is won