A Winter Minster And all the grottoed aisles along, Where servitors rejoice, The chorused echoes run-Oremus nos.
The inspiration of the breeze Gives every reed a voice >From tenebrae and silences;Over the valleys borne, Come organ harmonies;And when the low winds call, The pines with miserere mourn A requiem musical, Softer than moonbeams fall Across the starry oriels of night, Flooding the azure round With hushed delight And sanctity of sound.
