_The Father of Heaven_.
Child-angels, from your wings
Fall the roseal hoverings,
Child-angels, from your wings,
On the cheeks of Viola.
_Angels_.
Linger, rosy reflex, a
Quenchless stain, on Viola!
_All things being accomplished_, _saith the Father of Heaven_.
Bear her down, and bearing, sing,
Bear her down on spyless wing,
Bear her down, and bearing, sing,
With a sound of viola.
_Angels_.
Music as her name is, a
Sweet sound of Viola!