To Thee, Beloved, of old there came
  The sailers of a thousand ships
Who learned to love Thy hidden name,
  And love the music on Thy lips;

But some, who thought to build Thy pyre
  And on its ruin rear a throne,
Have loved to sit around Thy fire
  And count Thy saddest songs their own;

And sons of Thine, who broke love's bands
  To seek a fabled far-off shore,
Grope thro' the world with aching hands,
  And hunger for Thee evermore;

For, tho' Thy sorrow may not cease,
  Tho', blessing, Thou are still unblest,
Thou has for men a Gift of Peace,
  O Daughter of Divine Unrest!