Chapter 9 No.9

The stars die out on Avon's watchful breast,

While simple shepherds climb through shadows grey,

With beating bosoms up the Wrekin's Crest

To see the sun "dance in" an Easter Day

Whose dawning consummates three centuries-

Since Shakespeare's death and entrance to the skies-

Resolved the radiant miracle not to miss

Reserved alone to earliest opened eyes.

We, too, with faces set towards the East,

Our joyful orison offerings yielding up

Keep with our risen Lord His Pascal feast

From Paten Blest and Consecrated Cup,

And give Him thanks Who of all realms of Earth

Made England richest by her Shakespeare's birth.