（For S. M. E.）

    I take my leave, with sorrow, of Him I love so well； I look my last upon His small and radiant prison-cell； O happy lamp！ to serve Him with never ceasing light！ O happy flame！ to tremble forever in His sight！

    I leave the holy quiet for the loudly human train, And my heart that He has breathed upon is filled with lonely pain. O King, O Friend, O Lover！ What sorer grief can be In all the reddest depths of Hell than banishment² from Thee？

    But from my window as I speed across the sleeping land I see the towns and villages wherein His houses stand. Above the roofs I see a cross outlined against the night, And I know that there my Lover dwells in His sacramental might.

    Dominions³ kneel before Him, and Powers kiss His feet, Yet for me He keeps His weary watch in the turmoil⁴ of the street： The King of Kings awaits me, wherever I may go, O who am I that He should deign⁵ to love and serve me so？