O Heart of Three-in-the evening, You nestled the thorn-crowned head； He leaned on you in His sorrow, And rested on you when dead.

    Ah！ Holy Three-in-the evening He gave you His richest dower； He met you afar on Calvary, And made you "His own last hour".

    O Brow of Three-in-the evening, Thou wearest a crimson¹ crown； Thou art Priest of the hours forever, And thy voice, as thou goest down

    The cycles of time, still murmurs² The story of love each day： "I held in death the Eternal, In the long and the far-away."

    O Heart of Three-in-the evening, Mine beats with thine to-day； Thou tellest the olden story, I kneel —— and I weep and pray.