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   If ye tremble, when surrounded
    By our forest pine and palm trees;
   If we cannot cure the wounded
    With our marjoram and balm trees;
And if your souls, all mournfully, sit down among your senses,—
   Yet, O mortals, do not fear us,—
    We are gentle in our languor;
   And more good ye shall have near us,
    Than any pain or anger;
And our God's refracted blessing, in our blessing, shall be given;
   By the desert's endless vigil,
    We will solemnise your passions;
   By the wheel of the black eagle
    We will teach you exaltations,
When he sails against the wind, to the white spot up in Heaven.

   Ye shall find us tender nurses
    To your weariness of nature;
   And our hands shall stroke the curse's
    Dreary furrows from the creature,
Till your bodies shall lie smooth in death, and straight and slumberful:
   Then, a couch we will provide you,
    Where no summer heats shall dazzle;
   Strewing on you and beside you
    The thyme and the sweet basil—
And the cypress shall grow overhead, to keep all safe and cool.
   Till the Holy blood awaited
    Shall be chrism around us running,
   Whereby, newly-consecrated,
    We shall leap up in God's sunning,
To join the spheric company, where the pure worlds assemble;