And His, the centre one, e’en so most fair
Through semblance of a form divine it dim doth bear.
Here, ’gainst the sunshine traced, lie those bent knees
That knew the sorrow of Gethsemani
As trembled they ’neath its dread mystery;
Here droops the thorn-crowned head in silent peace,
And here, in the unswerving shadow lined,
Are stretched the arms that bear the ransom of mankind.
So rests unseen the presence of the Lord
Whose shadow seems as blessèd aureole,