Page:Songs of exile (IA songsofexile00daviiala).pdf/14

10

Angels be gathering Earth's ascending prayer,

That, heavenward bound,

Shall deck the Throne with wreathèd garlands fair

Of wafted sound.

Song of the ages, lo! the fettered soul

Shall break its bond,

And, wrapt in thee, look forth upon the whole

Of Heaven beyond.

Sing on, sweet minstrel, thine immortal song—

My harp for aye,

Vision of hope to men that live and long

And pass away.