SHINE ON

Shine on, O sun! Sing on, O birds of song!

And in her light my heart fashions a tune

Not wholly sad, most like a tender rune

Sung by some knight in days gone overlong,

When he with minstrel eyes in Syrian grove

Looked out towards his England, and then drew

From a sweet instrument a sound that grew

From twilight unto morning of his love.

Go, then, beloved, bearing as you go

These songs that have more sunlight far than cloud;

More summer flowers than dead leaves‘ neath the snow;

That tell of hopes from which you raised the shroud.

My lady, bright benignant star, shine on —

I lift to thee my low Trisagion!