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 Crimson Crown; Thou Art Priest Of The Hours Forever, And Thy Voice, As Thou Goest Down The Cycles Of Time, Still Murmurs 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. ____ Boulogne, Sur Mer.