I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.

An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.

Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!

The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.

Bible reading is an education in itself.