Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.

When Death to either shall come - I pray it be first to me.

Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.

My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.

I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.

Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.

O soul, be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this; Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss.