Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove.

Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.

Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.