To him who strolled round ancient gates,
in darkness, sun or rain he waits.
Standing with ambition ready to serve,
with his ever ready phrase to calm his nerve.
...
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;
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.
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