As Star That Shines Dependent Upon Star Is To The Sky While We Look Up And Love; As To The Deep Fair Ships Which Though They Move Seem Fixed, To Eyes That Watch Them From Afar; As To The Sandy Desert Fountains Are, With Palm-Groves Shaded At Wide Intervals, Whose Fruit Around The Sun-Burnt Native Falls Of Roving Tired Or Desultory War Such To This British Isle Her Christian Fanes, Each Linked To Each For Kindred Services; Her Spires, Her Steeple-Towers With Glittering Vanes Far-Kenned, Her Chapels Lurking Among Trees, Where A Few Villagers On Bended Knees Find Solace Which A Busy World Disdains.