The poem
I sing of starry dreams come true, Of hopes fulfilled; Of rich reward beyond my due, Of harvest milled. The full fruition of the years Is mine to hold, And in despite of toil and tears The sun is gold.
I have no hate for any one On this good earth; My days of hardihood are done, And hushed my hearth. No echo of a world afar Can trouble me; Above a grove the evening star Serene I see.
No jealousy nor passion base Can irk me now; Recieved am I unto God's grace With tranquil brow. Adieu to love I have and hold, Farewell to friend; In peace and faith my hands I fold And wait the end.