Her court was pure, her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed.

Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.

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

The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" And the Lord--"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.

The noonday quiet holds the hill.

Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.

Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.