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Sir Henry Newbolt - O Pulchritudo
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O Saint whose thousand shrines our feet have trod
  And our eyes loved thy lamp`s eternal beam,
Dim earthly radiance of the Unknown God,
  Hope of the darkness, light of them that dream,
Far off, far off and faint, O glimmer on
Till we thy pilgrims from the road are gone.

O Word whose meaning every sense hath sought,
  Voice of the teeming field and grassy mound,
Deep-whispering fountain of the wells of thought,
  Will of the wind and soul of all sweet sound,
Far off, far off and faint, O murmur on
Till we thy pilgrims from the road are gone.
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