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And him, the worthiest of so holy praise,
Circle his temples with Thy golden wreath.
Fall on the visage of that son of man,
Whom shadows o'er Thy wings' protecting van.

Thou Saviour Son!
With beckoning of Thy hand almighty, deign
To point of many one.
Worthiest to hold,
And wear the sacred symbol of Thy pain.
To lead with Peter's sword thy soldiery,
Before the eyes of heathenesse unfold
The standards of Thy heavenly empery.
Then let the sons of earth bow lowly down.
Him on whose breast the cross shall gleam to own.

Prayers o'er, they parted. The Archkomtur^[1] ordered
After repose, to seek the choir again;
Again entreat that Heaven would enlighten
Chaplains and brethren, called to such election.
 
So went they forth themselves to recreate
With the cool freshness of the night; and some
Sat in the castle porch, and others walk

1. Note 4