It is a noble ritual,—to tell
Out before God our Founders name by name;
It is a Christian rite saints will not blame,
And doth beseem this quiet city well.
Many and mighty in the bead-roll swell:
But, when I think of who we are and where,
Thy name doth vibrate strangely on the air,
Stern Benefactress! Strange, yet sweet, it falls
With Charles and Laud, as though a church were Heaven,
Where good deeds stay and evil is forgiven:
Strangely, yet sweetly, to the heart it calls,
Warning strife off from these memorial halls;
Scarcely recalling thy disastrous sway,
Yet taking thoughts of cold, rude hate away.