Thou king in ermine robes of crystal snow
  Lift high thou royal head, serene and proud,
Disdain the stress of storm embattled cloud
  That we on earth thy majesty may know.
Thy crown in myriad hues doth glint and glow—
  A lure for some in each swift hurry-crowd,
Whose hopes are raised and hearts anew are vowed
  To catch, like thee, God's light and onward throw,
May now thy imaged grandeur live and burn
  In brain of men who scan they glistening dome,
Who cut the mooring cord and, listless, roam;
  Give them the wit to mountain magic learn;
That lofty heights but type the souls that yearn
  For supreme love in perfect human home.

Edmund S. Meany